Chapter 5 - The Family Meeting

The sun in Texas had fully cleared the horizon now, bathing the desert base in a harsh, glaring white light. But I felt completely cool, detached, and entirely in control. I didn't wait for Dorian to call back. Instead, I dialed my mother’s direct number.

It rang four times before she picked up, her voice sharp and defensive.

"Maren, I told you not to call back! Dorian is having a panic attack, and Brielle is crying because—"

"Pack your bags, Mom," I interrupted smoothly.

Silence descended on her end of the line. "What are you talking about?"

"Dorian committed federal felony fraud by selling property held in an irrevocable trust," I explained, my tone clinical and detached. "Marcus Vance, the broker, is already cooperating with the state attorney general's office to save his own license. The contracts have been voided, the escrow account is frozen, and Dorian has exactly four hours before the county sheriff serves an arrest warrant for forgery and grand larceny."

My mother let out a sharp, breathless gasp. "You... you're calling the police on your own stepfather? Are you out of your mind?! That's your family!"

"My family consists of the man who built that cabin with his own hands and taught me honor," I replied coldly. "Dorian is a parasite, and you invited him in. You chose to look the other way while he stole from me, insulted my father’s memory, and threw away his service medals."

"The medals aren't even gone!" she cried out, panic finally breaking through her stubborn denial. "He... he didn't throw them out! They're in the back of the bedroom closet in a cardboard box! He was just trying to scare you!"

A grim satisfaction settled in my chest. Even in panic, they lied.

"That doesn't change anything, Mom," I said steadily. "The legal machine is already in motion. The state doesn't care about Brielle’s Hawaiian vacation when there's an active felony investigation attached to the title transfer. You have two choices: either you pack Dorian’s bags and throw him out on the street before the sheriff arrives, or you can explain to the neighbors why your husband is spending the next ten years in a federal facility."

"You can't do this to us!" she sobbed, the fragile illusion of her perfect household completely collapsing. "What are we going to do about the debts? What about Brielle's college fund?"

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"That sounds like a wonderful family problem for you to solve without my father’s property," I replied. "Goodbye, Mom."

I hung up the phone for the second time that morning. This time, I didn't feel a single trace of guilt or hesitation. The weight that had pressed down on my chest since 5:42 AM had completely vanished, replaced by the crisp, invigorating air of absolute justice.