Chapter 4 - The Question That Ruined Everything**
"Mom," I asked, my voice cutting through the silent foyer like a surgeon's scalpel, "did Dad ever show you the official title deed transfer paperwork for the Round Rock house that Dominic had you sign on Tuesday?"
The air in the hallway vanished instantly.
My mother froze midway through adjusting her diamond-encrusted bracelet. Her mouth remained slightly open, a confused crease forming between her brows. "What... what are you talking about, Penelope? What deed?"
My father frowned, stepping away from the living room window. His face flushed a dark, mottled red. "What is this nonsense, Penny? We came here to see our grandson, not to listen to your petty jealousy. Dominic is a busy man. We don't have time for your childish games."
Dominic’s charming smile didn't fade, but his eyes—hard, sharp, and suddenly panicked—darted toward the front door. He took half a step backward toward the porch. "Yeah, Penny. Real funny. Look, we got a tight schedule..."
"You aren't going anywhere, Dominic," I said softly.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, tapped the screen twice, and held it up so the glowing display faced them.
"Because according to the Travis County property records updated thirty minutes ago," I continued, my tone dropping to a chilling, measured cadence, "your Round Rock home no longer belongs to you, Dad. In fact, it doesn't belong to Dominic either. It was legally assigned as collateral to a federal asset seizure holding account under criminal case number 4:26-CR-00189."
My father staggered backward as if he had been physically struck in the chest. "That... that's impossible. We... we invested in Apex Dynamics! Dominic said the house transfer was just a temporary corporate tax shelter while we wait for the Series A funding!"
"There is no Apex Dynamics, Dad," I said, letting the words drop like heavy stones onto the hardwood floor. "There never was. Dominic Ferrara is Dominic Vance, a federal fugitive currently under indictment for a four-million-dollar wire fraud scheme. His bank accounts were frozen by the Department of Justice four hours ago. And the four hundred and fifty thousand dollars you handed him from your pension fund? It's gone. Seized by federal marshals."
Valerie dropped her phone. It hit the floor with a loud, sickening crack, the screen shattering completely. She looked from me to Dominic, her face draining of every drop of color. "Dominic... tell me she's lying. Tell me she's making this up! Tell me we're still rich!"
Dominic didn't answer her. He didn't look at her. He spun around on his heel, lunging for the front door, desperate to bolt.
He didn't make it.
As his hand gripped the brass doorknob, the front door swung inward with sudden, violent force. Two tall men in dark tactical vests, badges gleaming brightly in the morning sunlight, stepped directly into our entryway, blocking his exit.
"Dominic Vance?" the lead federal marshal asked, his voice flat and authoritative as he pulled out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. "You're under arrest for federal wire fraud, interstate transportation of stolen property, and identity theft. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
Dominic let out a pathetic, strangled sound—half gasp, half sob—before throwing his hands up in defeat as the cold steel clicked shut around his wrists.
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The silence that followed was absolute, terrifying, and complete.
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