Chapter 6 - The Liquidation
Within twenty minutes, the living room had emptied of everyone except Dad, Paulie, and me.
The guests had fled through the front door like rats deserting a sinking ship, leaving behind half-empty champagne glasses, expensive handbags, and scattered business cards. Melissa had locked herself in the guest bathroom, though Paulie had already assured her she wouldn't be staying there much longer.
I sat on the kitchen island while a private paramedic—one of Dad's regular contractors—wrapped my left leg in a rigid fiberglass splint, confirming a severe fracture near the knee.
Dad stood by the counter, holding a small porcelain cup of black coffee that Paulie had poured for him. He stared down at the legal folder Brandon had left on the floor—the very transfer documents meant to strip me of everything I owned.
"You knew about him, didn't you?" I asked softly, my voice still trembling from the adrenaline crash.
Dad took a slow sip of his coffee before setting the cup down.
"I knew he was a lightweight who spent too much money on tailored suits and didn't know the difference between building a business and stealing one," Dad said, his gray eyes cold. "I gave you room to make your own choices, Emmy. That was the deal. But I told you a long time ago—nobody takes what belongs to a Yates."
"He had lawyers," I said, pointing at the scattered papers. "Offshore accounts. Shell corporations in the Caymans."
Dad let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Emmy, do you know how many shell corporations it takes to run a multi-state freight and security network for forty years?" He shook his head. "Brandon was playing checkers in a room full of grandmasters. His offshore accounts are already being frozen by midnight wire transfers routed through accounts he didn't even know existed."
"What about the house?"
"The deed was never in his name," Dad said simply. "I bought this property under a blind trust three years ago, just in case something like this happened. Brandon thought he was the master of the estate. He was just a tenant paying rent with borrowed capital."
At that moment, Paulie walked back into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a clean cotton rag.
"Car’s loaded, boss. Mr. Carter is currently residing in the rear compartment of the primary transport hauler. He seems very eager to discuss amicable terms of settlement."
May you like
Dad nodded. "Take him down to the south yard. Put him in the quiet room near the boiler. Let him think about what happens when you try to steal from people who built the roads you drive on."
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