Chapter 6 - The Subpoena at Whispering Pines
At eight-thirty on Monday morning, the legal machinery began to turn with the cold, frictionless efficiency I had paid Clara Reynolds four thousand dollars on retainer to command.
I was at my desk, a mug of black coffee steaming beside my keyboard, reviewing the fall wedding schedule for Prior Events. My office was quiet. Milo had already caught the bus at the corner of Oak and Vine, wearing his new green helmet clipped to his backpack and smiling through the window as the yellow doors folded shut.
My dual monitors displayed two documents side-by-side: a catering schedule for a sixty-guest harvest dinner at the vineyard in two weeks, and the electronic case docket for the Eighth Judicial Circuit Court.
At 8:42 AM, a notification chimed in my inbox. It was an email from Clara with an attachment labeled *Filed_Endorsed_Complaint.pdf*.
"Lauren," her brief note read. "Service has been dispatched. Process servers are en route to Whispering Pines Court and your mother’s address on Sycamore. The District Attorney’s Economic Crimes Division received the forensic dossier at eight sharp. Investigator Raymond Hayes has been assigned to review the Computer Fraud and Abuse allegations. Let’s let the paperwork do the heavy lifting today."
I opened the attachment. Seeing my sister’s and mother’s names printed under *Defendants* in crisp 12-point Times New Roman did not provoke the familiar twinge of guilt that had governed my twenties and thirties. There was only a clear, level certainty.
*COUNT I: Tortious Interference with Contractual Relations (Tenant Foundation)*
*COUNT II: Tortious Interference with Prospective Economic Advantage (Howell Wedding)*
*COUNT III: Unlawful Computer Access and Identity Misrepresentation (State Code § 18.2-152.4)*
Attached as Exhibit A were the time-stamped Comcast subscriber records for IP address 73.180.44.112—registered to Neil Vance at 414 Whispering Pines Court—showing six separate sessions logging into my HoneyBook client portal between 11:14 PM and 1:02 AM across February and May.
At 9:15 AM, my phone buzzed on the blotter.
The screen did not show Diane or Jocelyn; their numbers remained blocked. It showed an unfamiliar local cell with an exchange linked to the commercial strip off Highway 17.
I answered and placed it on speaker. "Prior Events, Lauren speaking."
"Lauren? Lauren, it’s Neil." My brother-in-law’s voice was strained, breathless, punctuated by the metallic clatter of pneumatic air wrenches in the background. "Look, a guy in a gray suit just walked into the shop and handed me an envelope the size of a phone book. He said I was being served as an adult resident of the household."
"That’s standard procedure, Neil," I said evenly.
"Lauren, what the hell is this?" His voice dropped an octave, half-panicked, half-pleading. "Jocelyn is calling me in tears from the house. She said you canceled the Explorer payment and now there's a sheriff’s investigator sniffing around our internet provider? She’s saying you’re trying to ruin us."
"Your wife went into my private business accounts using an iPad in your living room," I said. "She impersonated my company to cancel two client contracts, costing me forty-nine thousand dollars in production fees and nearly destroying my reputation in this county. That is not family friction, Neil. That is grand larceny and computer fraud."
"She was just—she was bitter, Lauren! You know how she gets! She didn't mean to actually hurt you like that—"
"She stood in Diane’s yard forty-eight hours ago with a pair of shears and cut both tires on Milo’s tenth birthday present," I interrupted, my voice dropping lower, cold and immovable. "She looked my ten-year-old son in the face and called him a failure. Did you tell her to stop then?"
Neil went completely silent. Over the line, the hiss of an air compressor filled the void.
"You sat on the tailgate of your truck and drank your soda," I continued. "You let her do it. And you drove an Explorer paid for by my corporate checking account for eleven months without offering five dollars toward the note."
"I... I didn't know about the client emails," he stammered, his bravado folding into ash. "Lauren, I swear to God on my girls, I didn't know she touched your business files. I thought you guys were just fighting about Mom’s cruise."
"Then you had better retain an attorney separate from your wife," I told him. "Because Clara Reynolds filed the civil complaint thirty minutes ago, and Investigator Hayes at the DA’s office already has the IP logs. Do not call this number again, Neil. If you have anything to submit, your lawyer can send it to Clara."
I tapped the screen and cut the connection.
May you like
I set the phone down. My heart was not hammering. My hands were completely steady. I turned back to the vineyard dinner schedule, reviewed the floral deposit, and approved the order.
***
