Chapter 6 - The Forged Legacy
The following afternoon, I summoned my corporate legal team, headed by Sarah Jenkins, a fierce, sharp-witted corporate litigation attorney who had represented my logistics firm for two decades.
We sat in the main boardroom of Miller Logistics on the outskirts of Nashville. On the glass table lay the forged trust transfer documents, the forensic audit report, and the bank wire receipts provided by Marcus Vance.
“Howard,” Sarah said, reviewing the forged seal under a magnifying glass. “This is a clear case of grand larceny, corporate forgery, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud. Austin’s signature is right beside Victoria Frost’s notary stamp.”
“Can we press federal charges?” I asked flatly.
“Absolutely,” Sarah stated. “The moment we file this report with the District Attorney’s Financial Crimes Unit, warrants will be issued for Victoria Frost, Brittany Frost, and Austin Miller.”
I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the boardroom, watching my fleet of silver-and-blue semi-trucks pulling in and out of the loading bays. Every truck, every bay, every tire on those vehicles represented thirty-five years of my life. I had worked eighteen-hour days, missed holidays, and worn grease-stained overalls for decades so my children would never have to worry about where their next meal came from.
And my son had tried to sign it away like trash to impress a woman who didn't even like him.
“Don't file with the District Attorney yet, Sarah,” I said softly.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Howard... you’re not going to protect him again, are you?”
“No,” I said, looking back at her with eyes of steel. “Protecting him is over. I want to invite them here. I want Brittany, Charles, Victoria, and Austin in this boardroom on Monday morning. Tell them I am ready to discuss the 'settlement' of the wedding expenses and the Grand Avenue apartment.”
Sarah’s face broke into a sharp, knowing smile. “A trap.”
“A trap,” I agreed. “They think I’m an old, soft father who will eventually cave to protect his son’s reputation. They’re going to walk into this room expecting a check for two million dollars.”
“And what will they leave with?” Sarah asked.
“Handcuffs,” I replied.
That evening, I returned home and sat down with Loretta and Paige in the living room. I laid out the entire forensic report on the coffee table, explaining every detail of Brittany’s past fraud in Atlanta, the fake Frost Capital shell company, and Austin’s forgery of my corporate seal.
Loretta listened in complete silence. She didn't cry this time. The pain of the wedding day had hardened her heart into something unbreakable.
“He tried to steal your company, Howard?” Loretta asked, her voice steady.
“He did, Lori,” I answered softly. “He signed the papers three weeks before the wedding.”
Paige slammed her cup onto the coaster, her face red with fury. “He’s sick! He’s completely unhinged! Dad, you have to send him to prison! He would have left you and Mom broke on the street if Brittany told him to!”
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Loretta reached across the table and took my hand. She looked into my eyes with a deep, profound clarity.
“Do what you have to do, Howard,” my wife said quietly. “He stopped being our boy the day he chose to become their accomplice.”
