Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
The fallout was swifter and more absolute than even Marcus had predicted. By nightfall, the federal marshals had seized Mark’s office computers, frozen all corporate and personal bank accounts tied to the Altos Group, and slapped a temporary restraining order preventing Mark from coming within five hundred yards of either our suburban home or Crestview headquarters.
I drove back to the house alone that evening. The neighborhood was quiet, the manicured lawns bathed in the soft amber glow of streetlamps. For twenty-eight years, this house had felt like a golden cage where my contributions were minimized, where my mother-in-law, Ofelia, treated me like an uninvited guest, and where Mark drifted through rooms he hadn't built, wearing a crown he hadn't earned.
When I unlocked the front door, the house was dead silent.
Ofelia was sitting in the formal living room, watching television at low volume. When she heard my footsteps on the hardwood, she looked up, her expression immediately twisting into her usual mask of haughty disapproval.
"Where is Mark?" she snapped before I could even take off my coat. "He called an hour ago sounding completely hysterical, claiming the police were at his office. What kind of scene have you caused this time, Laura? Can't you ever just let the man work in peace?"
I stopped in the center of the foyer, looking at the woman who had spent a decade making me feel like a servant in my own home.
"Your son isn't coming home tonight, Ofelia," I said evenly.
Ofelia scoffed, turning her gaze back to the television screen. "Don't be dramatic. He's a successful executive. He has important dinners—"
"He's sitting in a federal holding cell downtown being booked for wire fraud, corporate forgery, and grand larceny," I interrupted, my voice cutting through the hum of the television like a razor. "And as for this house—the deed is in my father's name and mine. You have forty-eight hours to pack your bags and find somewhere else to live."
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Ofelia’s head snapped back around, her eyes wide with shock and pure rage. "You arrogant—you can't throw me out! I am his mother! This is our family home!"
"No, Ofelia," I said, walking past her toward the stairs without breaking my stride. "This was my father's investment. And for twenty-eight years, I let you and your son forget it. Game over."
