“And for six years, the house has been owned by the Vale Preservation Trust.”
Beatrice’s eyes snapped toward me.
I continued before anyone could interrupt.
“The furniture belongs to the trust. The artwork belongs to the trust. The vehicles outside are leased by a company that belongs to the trust. Even the wine collection your father has been quietly stealing from belongs to the trust.”
Harold dropped my handbag.
Julian’s face reddened. “You’re lying.”
I reached for my laptop.
At 9:02 a.m. the previous morning, I had not transferred $150,000 to Julian’s creditor.
I had transferred it to an acquisition account managed by my attorneys.
Then that account purchased the debt.
Every dollar.
Every penalty.
Every secured claim.
Every personal guarantee Julian had signed without reading.
I turned the screen toward him.
