Part 5
“You can’t freeze my accounts,” Patricia whispered, her face completely pale, the reality of her situation finally crashing down. “I built the current face of this company. I am the one who manages the foundation!”
“You manage nothing but a web of lies, Patricia,” Aunt Helen said, standing up from her seat and walking toward the stage to stand by my side.
Aunt Helen looked at the remaining guests, many of whom were major shareholders in the Anderson Group.
“For five years, I kept quiet because Grace asked me to wait until Myra was legally of age and possessed all the necessary documentation to protect herself,” Helen explained to the room. “We knew that if we spoke up sooner, Patricia would use the company's legal defense fund to bury the truth. But tonight, the game is officially over.”
Two uniform police officers entered through the back doors, accompanied by a woman in a business suit holding an official folder.
Patricia’s eyes darted toward the side exit, but the exits were already blocked by estate security who were now taking orders exclusively from Mr. Whitman.
The woman in the suit stepped up to the stage and presented a document to Patricia.
“Patricia Anderson, I am Detective Miller with the Financial Crimes Division,” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We have a warrant for your arrest regarding the falsification of legal documents, embezzlement of trust funds, and corporate fraud.”
“Richard!” Patricia shrieked, turning back to my father in a panic, her carefully constructed mask completely shattered. “Call our lawyers! Tell them this is a misunderstanding! Do something, you coward!”
My father looked at her, then looked down at the table, utterly crushed by the public shame and the realization of his own complicity.
He didn’t say a word. He just slowly sat back down, burying his face in his hands.
The officers stepped onto the stage, smoothly bringing Patricia’s arms behind her back.
The metallic click of the handcuffs echoing through the microphone sent a final, chilling wave through the room.
As they began to lead her away, Patricia glared at me, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred.
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“You think you’ve won, Myra?” she spat, her voice venomous as she passed me. “You’re nothing without this family name. You won’t last a week managing this empire.”
“I’m not managing your empire, Patricia,” I replied quietly, looking her dead in the eye. “I’m rebuilding Grandma’s.”
