Chapter 4 - The House on the HillBy mid-afternoon, the news of the executive purge at Crestview Construction had sent shockwaves through the California real estate sector.
The company’s stock, which had been artificially inflated by Edwin’s aggressive expansion promises, plummeted twenty-four percent in three hours before trading was suspended by the exchange. Rumors of a massive federal audit spread through the financial district like wildfire.
While the corporate world burned, Camila spent her afternoon in the quiet, sunlit sitting room of her father’s estate in Los Altos.
Unlike the sterile, cold luxury of the Bel Air mansion, George Stanford’s home was built of warm cedar, fieldstone, and glass. High oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with history texts, engineering manuals, and framed photographs of Camila’s childhood.
She sat by the window, a warm cup of tea resting between her hands, watching the sunlight play across the lawn where her father used to build wooden birdhouses every spring.
The door chimes sounded softly.
Arthur Wayne walked in, taking off his coat and hanging it on the brass rack by the entryway.
“The locks at the Bel Air residence have been changed,” Arthur reported, taking a seat across from her. “Your husband... or rather, Mr. Vance... tried to re-enter the property at two o'clock with a locksmith. Private security turned them away.”
“Where are they staying?” Camila asked quietly.
“At a local Extended Stay motel near the airport,” Arthur said, a faint smile touching his lips. “It appears Mr. Vance’s personal credit cards were linked to the primary corporate line. When the line was suspended, his personal accounts were automatically restricted under the cross-collateralization agreement.”
Camila took a slow sip of her tea. “And Annika?”
“Miss Vance spent forty minutes at the police station trying to report her luxury vehicle as impounded,” Arthur replied. “She was informed that since the vehicle was registered under Crestview Leasing, it was repossessed by the estate under the emergency asset conservation order.”
A quiet knock came at the open study door.
Harrison Cole stepped in, carrying a thick black binder stamped with the crest of the California Franchise Tax Board.
“Miss Stanford,” Harrison said, his tone serious. “The preliminary audit results are in. It’s worse than we anticipated.”
Camila set her teacup down. “Show me.”
Harrison opened the binder on the coffee table. “For the past two years, Edwin hasn't just been mismanaging funds. He has been running a secondary shell company registered in Nevada—Vance Enterprises LLC. He was diverting high-margin municipal supply orders away from Crestview and billing them through his shell company at a three-hundred-percent markup.”
“Self-dealing,” Arthur noted grimly. “That’s grand theft, corporate fraud, and breach of fiduciary duty.”
“There’s more,” Harrison added, turning a page. “He wasn't acting alone. His sister, Annika, was listed as the primary payroll officer for Vance Enterprises, drawing a thirty-thousand-dollar monthly salary for a company that has no employees, no office, and no physical operations.”
Camila looked down at the documents. The signatures on the checks were clear—Edwin’s sweeping, arrogant handwriting beside Annika’s messy scrawl.
“They didn't just take my father’s generosity,” Camila murmured, her voice tight with ancient sorrow. “They were actively trying to bleed him dry while he was dying in the hospital.”
“They believed your father was uneducated,” Harrison said softly. “They thought a man who wore old jeans and talked slowly wouldn't know how to read a balance sheet.”
“My father had a master’s degree in structural engineering from Stanford,” Camila said, a spark of fierce pride lighting up her hazel eyes. “He didn't wear fine suits because he didn't need to prove anything to anyone. He let people think whatever they wanted, because the truth always comes out in the foundation.”
She stood up, walking over to her father’s desk. She touched the smooth bronze surface of his old drafting pen.
“Arthur,” she said.
“Yes, Camila?”
“Do not offer them a settlement.”
Arthur lowered his glasses, looking at her with quiet respect. “None at all?”
“None,” Camila commanded firmly. “Edwin thought he could humiliate me by making me crawl under a beast to say goodbye to my dying father. He wanted to show me that I was nothing in his house. Now, I want him to face the full, unvarnished weight of the law.”
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“The criminal trial will be public,” Arthur warned gently. “The press will make a circus out of the Vance family downfall.”
“Let them,” Camila said, turning to look out the window at the golden afternoon sun. “Let the whole world see what happens when a parasite tries to swallow the tree that gave it shelter.”
