Chapter 12 - The Fall of Richard MillerRichard Miller’s downtown office suite on Main Street used to command a view of the entire Gallatin Valley. Today, the blinds were drawn halfway, casting a somber gloom over the leather armchairs.
Richard looked twenty years older than he had a month ago. His posture was slumped, and his expensive suit hung loosely on his frail frame.
"I raised a thief," Richard said without preamble as we sat across from his massive mahogany desk. He didn't offer us coffee; he simply pushed a thick leather-bound folder across the polished wood. "And worse... I raised a coward who let an innocent boy sit on a cold bench while he dined on someone else's dime."
"Grant made his choices, Richard," I said, opening the folder to find notarized documents transferring absolute legal and financial authority over the remaining Miller family trusts to my name, designated solely for Diego's future.
"Sabrina called me yesterday," Richard whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "She’s staying in a cheap motel outside of Butte. She wanted money for food. I told her the only check I’m writing is to the state prosecutor to ensure Grant is extradited back to Montana."
Marisol carefully reviewed the paperwork page by page before signing her witness line. "These documents are ironclad, Mr. Miller. Grant will not be able to touch a single cent of these accounts."
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Richard looked toward the doorway where Diego was quietly sitting on a bench in the outer lobby, coloring in his map of Alaska with a brand-new box of crayons.
"Tell that boy... tell him I'm sorry," Richard muttered, closing his eyes. "Though I don't expect him to ever believe it."
