Chapter 6 - The Unraveling Fraud
Mark leaped out of the chair, his hands outstretched toward the bed as if he could still plead his case.
"Anna, darling, listen to me!" he cried, tears of pure terror finally spilling down his cheeks.
"I was under so much financial pressure!"
"I wanted to build a fortune for us! For our daughter!"
"I only did it because I thought you were struggling on an administrative salary!"
"I wanted to give Grace a private school education, a massive estate, horses, vacations!"
"Don't let them do this to me, Anna! I'm the father of your child!"
Both Military Police sergeants instantly unholstered their tasers, their boots slamming down in unison.
"Step back from the Colonel right now, sir!" the lead sergeant barked with thunderous force.
Mark stumbled back against the wall, his hands raised in trembling surrender.
"You wanted to build a fortune for us?" I asked, a bitter, humorless smile touching my lips.
"Is that why you left me on the kitchen floor while I was screaming in labor?"
"Is that why you kicked my hospital bag into the mud and told me I was dead weight?"
"Is that why you paraded Captain Vance into this room wearing a diamond ring to spit on my face?"
"I... I was confused!" Mark wept, completely humiliating himself.
"I was having an emotional breakdown! You know how stressed I get during tax season!"
"I didn't mean any of it, Anna! It was the adrenaline talking!"
"You threw a heavily pregnant woman out into a freezing rainstorm, Mr. Whitmore," General Sterling intervened.
"That is not stress."
"That is depraved indifference to human life."
"If that sergeant major's widow hadn't arrived, Colonel Whitmore and her child could have died on that porch."
"And you would currently be facing premeditated capital murder charges."
Mark slid down the wall until he was practically kneeling on the hospital floor.
"Please," Mark begged, looking up at me with red, swollen eyes.
"We can work this out."
"I'll sign over my business."
"I'll give you everything I have."
"Just tell your general to drop the investigation."
"You don't have anything to give me, Mark," I said softly, looking down at his pathetic, groveling form.
"Your consulting firm has a negative bank balance of forty-two thousand dollars."
"The lease on your sports car is three months past due."
"The tailored suit you are wearing right now was billed to a credit card that bears my maiden name."
"You are a hollow shell of vanity and fraud who survived only because I permitted you to live in my house."
Mark looked up, his brow furrowing through his tears.
"Your house?" he stammered.
"I put down the earnest money for that house!"
"My name is on the preliminary deed!"
"I am the master of that property!"
Colonel Mitchell pulled a blue-bound legal document from his stack and cleared his throat.
"The residential property located at 442 Oakridge Terrace was purchased entirely through the Whitmore Family Trust," Mitchell stated.
"The earnest money you claim to have provided was transferred from an account funded exclusively by Colonel Whitmore’s family estate."
"Your name was temporarily listed on preliminary local municipal paperwork pending the completion of a military security audit."
"That audit failed forty-eight hours ago when you initiated unauthorized contact with foreign nationals."
"As of six o'clock this morning, the title has been permanently registered to Colonel Anna Whitmore as sole and separate property."
"You do not own the house, Mr. Whitmore."
"You do not own the furniture."
"You do not even own the refrigerator you raided before driving over here to boast."
Mark’s breath caught in his throat, a sickening realization finally crashing through his dense arrogance.
"The Whitmore Family Trust?" Mark repeated, the words tasting like poison on his tongue.
"What trust?"
"Your grandfather was just an old sergeant who lived in a cabin in Montana!"
"He didn't have any money!"
"He was a dirt farmer!"
I reached out with my left hand and gently rested my fingers on little Grace’s bassinet.
"My grandfather was a founding partner of Vanguard Aerospace Technologies, Mark," I answered quietly.
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"He served as a master sergeant because he loved his country, not because he needed a paycheck."
"And when he passed away six months ago, he left behind an estate you could not even begin to imagine."
