Chapter 6 - The Freezing Order
At 11:00 a.m., Sarah Bennett walked into the Franklin County Court of Common Pleas with a stack of folders thick enough to stop a bullet.
We didn't just file for an annulment based on bigamy-adjacent fraud; we filed an ex parte petition for an immediate asset freeze against Wesley Ward and *The St. Jude Heritage Trust*.
In our filing, Sarah attached the forged power of attorney discovered in my floorboards, Clara’s sworn affidavit from Pennsylvania detailing an identical modus operandi, and copies of Wesley’s four aliases matching four bank accounts currently routing money through Eleanor’s foundation.
At 2:30 p.m., Judge Holbrook issued an emergency injunction freezing all domestic accounts linked to Wesley Ward, Eleanor Ward, and the Heritage Trust pending a full evidentiary hearing in seven days.
Wesley’s credit cards stopped working at 2:34 p.m.
I know this because Iris was sitting in a downtown café with her mother when Eleanor’s platinum card was declined for a $140 brunch.
Iris texted me under the table:
*“Mom just tried to pay for lunch. Declined. She called the bank, screaming that she has half a million in liquidity. The branch manager told her the federal court placed a temporary restraining order on the trust accounts. She just dropped her purse in her eggs Benedict. Nina, you’ve drawn blood.”*
I texted back: *“Tell her to save her appetite. Dinner will be served in court.”*
Twenty minutes later, the front doorbell of my house rang.
Not a polite tap. A frantic, continuous hammering that shook the glass panes beside the frame.
I didn't open the door. I pulled up the security camera feed on my tablet.
Wesley was standing on my porch, drenched in a sudden afternoon downpour. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his tie undone, his eyes wild and bloodshot. Behind him on the driveway, a tow truck was in the middle of hooking up his leased BMW—a car whose payments had bounced thirty minutes prior when the frozen accounts rejected the auto-debit.
“NINA!” Wesley bellowed through the wood. “OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR! YOU FROZE MY MOTHER’S FOUNDATION! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’VE DONE?”
I pressed the two-way intercom button.
“You’re currently violating a protective order, Wesley,” my voice broadcast clearly through the outdoor speaker. “Every word you scream is being recorded and transmitted directly to Deputy Miller’s cruiser.”
Wesley slammed both fists against the deadbolt. “You think you’re so clever with your little lawyer? My mother built this town! She knows every judge on the appellate circuit! You’re going to drop these charges, unfreeze that trust, and hand over the deeds, or I swear to God I will burn this entire life to the ground!”
“You already burned it, Wesley,” I replied smoothly. “Three days ago. Over eight minutes of grilled cheese.”
May you like
The sound of approaching sirens wailed through the rain.
***