On My Birthday, My Parents Organized A Family Dinner With 100 Relatives Just To Publicly Disown
I shrugged. «Can you prove that? Because right now the police have a video of you holding the keys and claiming the car is yours. Hunter will deny it. He’ll say you stole it. He’ll say you’re a wild party girl who got drunk and crashed. Who do you think a jury will believe? The businessman or the influencer who live-streams her felonies?»
Bianca started to cry again. Ugly, gasping sobs. «He set me up,» she wailed. «He totally set me up. Tiana, you have to help me. I can’t go to prison. I’ll lose my sponsorships. I’ll lose my verification badge.»
I watched her unravel. It was pathetic. She wasn’t worried about the crime. She wasn’t worried about morality. She was worried about her blue checkmark.
«I can help you,» I said softly.
Bianca looked up, mascara dripping from her chin. «How?»
«I can drop the charges,» I said. «As the representative of Omega Holdings, I can sign a waiver stating that there was a miscommunication regarding the vehicle usage. I can testify that Hunter had access to the spare key. I can make this go away.»
Bianca nodded frantically. «Yes, yes, do that. Please, Tiana. I’m your sister.»
I held up a hand. «I’m not doing it because you’re my sister,» I said coldly. «I’m doing it for a price.»
«A price?» Bianca asked, blinking. «I don’t have money. Dad has the money.»
«I don’t want money,» I said. «I want information.»
I pulled a chair out and sat down opposite her. I leaned in close.
«I know Hunter and Dad are moving money,» I said. «I know they are draining the church charity fund. I know they are planning to sell the land. But Hunter is greedy. He wouldn’t just put the money in the family account. He’s skimming off the top. He’s hiding assets. I need to know where.»
Bianca bit her lip. She looked terrified. «Dad will kill me,» she whispered. «Hunter will kill me.»
«Prison will kill you,» I countered. «And trust me, orange is not your color. Think about it, Bianca. Hunter crashed the car and let you take the fall. He threw you to the wolves to save himself. Do you really owe him your loyalty?»
Bianca’s eyes hardened. The fear was replaced by spite. She was a narcissist, and narcissists hate being used.
«He’s a pig,» she hissed. «He thinks he’s so smart. But he’s sloppy.»
«Tell me,» I said.
«He has a burner phone,» Bianca said, the words tumbling out. «He keeps it in the safe in the pool house. But he’s an idiot, he uses the same passcode for everything: 1111.»
I nodded, urging her to continue.
«And he’s not just skimming cash,» she said, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. «He’s spending it. On her.»
«Her who?» I asked.
«The mistress,» Bianca said, a gleam of malice in her eyes. «Crystal. She’s 22. She works at the luxury handbag store in Phipps Plaza. Hunter has been using the church building fund to buy her Birkin bags. He spent $50,000 last month alone. He brags about it when he’s drunk. He says the congregation is paying for his side piece.»
I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. This was the smoking gun. Embezzlement was one thing, but using church donations to buy Hermes bags for a mistress? That would destroy Marcus’s reputation in the community forever. It would turn the deacons into a lynch mob.
«Do you have proof?» I asked.
«I have pictures,» Bianca said. «I took pictures of his text messages when he was passed out by the pool last week. I was going to use them to blackmail him into buying me a trip to Dubai, but—»
«But now you’re going to use them to stay out of jail,» I finished. «Where are the pictures?»
«In my iCloud,» Bianca said. «My phone is in evidence. But if you have a laptop I can log in.»
I stood up and knocked on the glass. Agent Miller entered carrying my laptop bag. He set it on the table.
«Log in,» I ordered.
Bianca typed in her credentials, her handcuffed hands moving awkwardly. She navigated to her photo stream. And there they were. Screenshots of texts between Hunter and Crystal. Photos of receipts. Bank transfer confirmations from the Grace Community Outreach Fund directly to a personal account labeled HV Private. It was a treasure trove. It was the end of Hunter Vance.
I saved everything to my secure drive. I made three backups.
«Okay,» I said, closing the laptop. «You did good, Bianca.»
«So I can go?» she asked, hope making her voice tremble.
I stood up and signaled for the guard. «I will talk to the district attorney,» I said. «I will tell them I am not pressing charges for the theft. But the hit-and-run investigation takes time. You’ll have to stay here tonight.»
«Tonight?!» Bianca shrieked. «But the gala is tomorrow. I need to get a facial.»
«You’re lucky you aren’t getting a prison tattoo,» I said. «Sit tight, sister. Think about your choices.»
I walked toward the door.
«Tiana, wait,» Bianca called out. «What about Dad? What are you going to do to him?»
I paused, hand on the doorknob. «Dad is going to have a very bad Sunday,» I said.
I walked out of the interrogation room, leaving my sister weeping into her hands. I felt no guilt. She had been ready to blackmail her own brother-in-law for a vacation. She had watched me walk into the rain without a second thought. She was a scorpion, and I had just removed her stinger.
I met Agent Miller in the hallway. «Did you get it?» Miller asked.
I held up the flash drive. «Everything,» I said. «Wire fraud, embezzlement. And a moral scandal that will make the evening news. Hunter bought a mistress 50 grand worth of purses with money meant for the soup kitchen.»
Miller let out a low whistle. «That guy is done. When do we move?»
«Not yet,» I said, checking my watch. «Hunter is the muscle, but Marcus is the head. I need to sever the head. And to do that, I need Serena.»
«Serena?» Miller asked. «Your mother. She’s loyal to the bone. She won’t flip.»
«She’s loyal to the money,» I corrected. «She’s loyal to the lifestyle. And right now, she thinks Hunter is the golden goose who is going to sell that land and buy her a villa in France.»
I pulled up the video file on my phone, the one I had just downloaded from Bianca’s cloud, showing the receipts for the mistress.
«She needs to know that her golden goose is cooking another bird,» I said.
I opened my email. I composed a new message to Serena Jenkins.
Subject Line: Urgent. Hunter’s investment portfolio.
I attached the photos of the Birkin bags. I attached the text messages where Hunter called Marcus an old fool and Serena a «washed-up pageant queen.» I attached the bank transfers showing he was draining the accounts dry.
I hit send. I turned to Miller. «Phase three is active,» I said. «Now we wait for the scream.»
It didn’t take long. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t a call. It was a notification from the hacked security cameras inside my parents’ house. I opened the app.
Serena was standing in the living room holding her iPad. She was staring at the screen, her face a mask of absolute horror. She wasn’t screaming yet; she was trembling. The realization was hitting her like a tsunami. The money she thought was safe, the retirement she thought was secured, the son-in-law she had championed over her own daughter—it was all a lie.
She dropped the iPad on the couch. She reached for her phone. She dialed a number. My phone rang.
«Hello, mother,» I answered.
«Tiana…» Serena’s voice was a whisper, a broken, jagged sound. «Tiana, tell me this isn’t true. Tell me you faked this.»
«I didn’t fake it, Mom,» I said. «Bianca gave it to me. Hunter is robbing you blind. And he’s laughing about it.»
«He spent $50,000,» Serena choked out, «on a bag. My bag money.»
«He’s going to leave you with nothing,» I said, pressing the bruise. «He’s going to take the money from the land sale if I signed it. And he’s going to run away with Crystal. And you and Dad are going to be left with the debt and the scandal.»
«Help us,» Serena begged. «Tiana, please. You’re smart. You’re an accountant. Fix it.»
«I can’t fix it, Mom,» I said. «But I can end it.»
«How?» Serena asked.
«Bring Dad to the church on Sunday,» I said. «Make sure Hunter is there. Make sure the congregation is there. I’m coming to the service. And I’m going to testify.»
«Testify?» Serena asked, hope creeping into her voice. «You mean… you’re going to apologize? You’re going to sign the land over?»
«I’m going to testify to the truth,» I said. «Just make sure they are there.»
I hung up. I walked out of the police station into the cool night air. The city lights of Atlanta shimmered in the distance. The chessboard was clear. The pawns were removed. The knights were captured. Now it was time to checkmate the king.
Saturday morning found Hunter Vance in his natural habitat: the corner office of Vance Development Group. Through the lens of the hidden camera I had installed in his smoke detector six months ago, I watched him admiring his own reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. He adjusted his silk tie, smoothed his hair, and took a sip of espresso.
He looked like a man who owned the world. He had no idea that his wife was currently sitting in a holding cell wearing an orange jumpsuit, or that his sister-in-law was about to burn his kingdom to the ground.
From my command center in the penthouse, I typed out a single email. I didn’t use a burner address this time. I used an encrypted server that routed through three different countries, making it untraceable.
Subject: Account 4490, Cayman Islands.
Body: I know about the skimming, Hunter. I know about the $500,000 you siphoned from the construction loan last week. I know about the shell company in Belize. Transfer half a million to the account below by noon, or I forward the ledger to the IRS and Bishop Marcus. You have one hour.
I attached a PDF. It wasn’t just a threat. It was a complete forensic accounting of his theft. Every dollar he had stolen from my father, every cent he had embezzled from the church building fund, every illegal kickback he had taken from contractors. It was a masterpiece of financial ruin.
I hit send.
On my monitor, I watched Hunter’s phone ping. He picked it up casually, probably expecting a text from his mistress. He unlocked the screen. I saw his eyes widen. I saw the color drain from his face, leaving him a sickly shade of gray. He dropped the coffee cup. It shattered on the hardwood floor, splashing espresso onto his Italian loafers.
He didn’t even notice. He was scrolling frantically through the PDF, his hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped the phone too. He ran to his office door and locked it. He pulled the blinds down. He started pacing back and forth like a caged animal, muttering curses under his breath. He looked at his watch. He looked at the computer. He looked like a man realizing he was standing on a trap door.
He grabbed his phone and dialed. I turned up the volume on my speakers.
«Pick up, old man,» he hissed into the phone, pacing the length of the rug. «Pick up, you useless windbag.»
«Hello?» My father’s voice came through the speaker, tinny and confused. «Hunter, is everything all right? We are worried about Bianca, she hasn’t called.»
«Forget Bianca,» Hunter snapped. «Listen to me Marcus, we have a situation. A major situation with the zoning commission.»
«What kind of situation?» Marcus asked.
«The councilman,» Hunter lied smoothly, the panic in his voice shifting into practiced manipulation. «The councilman wants more money, Marcus. He says the environmental impact report is being flagged. He wants to shut down the whole project. He says he can make the problem go away, but he needs a donation. A big one. Today.»
«We already gave him 50,000,» Marcus protested.
«That was the retainer,» Hunter said, wiping sweat from his forehead. «He wants 500,000, Marcus. Cash. Today. Or he kills the deal. He kills the land sale. The 15 million disappears.»
«500,000?» Marcus choked. «Hunter… I don’t have that kind of liquidity. The church accounts are already strained from the renovation.»
«Then unstrain them!» Hunter shouted, slamming his hand on the desk. «Rob Peter to pay Paul, Marcus. Dip into the benevolence fund. Dip into the retirement trust. I don’t care where you get it. Just get it. If we don’t pay him by noon, the deal is dead. Do you understand? We lose everything. The villa in France. The yacht. Your reputation. It all goes away.»
There was a long silence on the line. I could hear my father breathing, heavy and labored. He was terrified. He was being squeezed by the very monster he had invited into his home.
«I… I can wire it,» Marcus said finally, his voice defeated. «I can access the emergency relief fund. But Hunter? This is the last time. If the board finds out…»
«They won’t find out,» Hunter said, his voice dropping to a soothing purr. «Once we sell the land, we put it all back plus interest. No one will ever know. Just wire it to the usual offshore holding account for privacy. Do it now, Marcus. The clock is ticking.»
«I’ll do it,» Marcus whispered.
Hunter hung up the phone. He let out a long breath, leaning back against his desk. He closed his eyes and laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.
«Too easy,» he said to the empty room.
He picked up his phone again. He didn’t dial the blackmailer. He didn’t check on his wife in jail. He dialed a number I recognized from Bianca’s screenshots.
«Hey, baby,» he said, his voice changing completely, becoming warm and seductive.
«Hunter!» Crystal’s voice chirped through the speaker. «Where are you? You promised we’d go shopping for the bracelet today.»
«Change of plans, baby,» Hunter said, grinning. «Pack a bag. A big one. Don’t worry about clothes. We’ll buy new ones when we get there. Grab your passport.»
«Passport?» Crystal squealed. «Where are we going?»
«Rio,» Hunter said. «Or maybe Dubai. Somewhere with no extradition treaty.»
«What about your wife?» Crystal asked. «What about the big deal?»
«Screw the deal,» Hunter laughed, walking over to his wall safe. He spun the dial. «And screw my wife. She’s probably getting her nails done. Listen to me, Crystal. I just played the ace. Old man Marcus is stupid. He’s so desperate to be rich, he just handed me the keys to the vault. I’m waiting for a wire transfer of 500 grand. As soon as it hits, we are gone. I’m cleaning out the accounts. I’m taking everything.»
