My 28-Year-Old Co-Producer Handed Me Concealer to Cover the Bruise He Gave Me Before Filming — So I Used My Secret Trust to Expose His Mother's $340,000 Charity Theft
The smell of stale coffee and fear clung to the air in Julian Kincaid’s dimly lit office. I watched him from across the polished mahogany desk, his face a mask of controlled fury, a stack of legal documents resting ominously by his hand.
“We need to talk about the studio, Chloe,” Julian said, his voice deceptively calm. He tapped a manicured finger on the stack. “The one where you’ve been… exercising your creativity.”
I kept my face neutral, remembering the purple mark on my neck still throbbing beneath the heavy layer of concealer.
“What about it?” I asked.
He leaned back, a predatory glint in his eyes. “My mother wants to bring her foundation’s youth music program in there. It’s prime space, close to the lot.”
“It’s my private studio, Julian.”
“Is it?” He pushed a single document across the desk. It was a production company expenditure report, highlighting a line item for “Off-site Audio Facility Lease.” “The network pays for that space, Chloe. Your stipend covers a percentage, but the production underwrites the bulk.”
He smiled, a cold, calculating curve of his lips. “So, technically, the studio belongs to us. Or at least, the rights to its use do.”
My stomach tightened, but I didn’t flinch. He was trying to corner me.
“Unless, of course,” he continued, watching my reaction, “you’d like to sign over the deed to the property to the Kincaid Foundation. We could simplify things.”
He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. “Or, we could freeze your show stipend. Just until this ‘misunderstanding’ about ownership is cleared up.”
He crossed his arms, waiting. His strategy was clear: financial pressure. He believed he could starve me out, force me to comply.
I met his gaze, my voice steady. “The property at 1230 Sunset Boulevard, Suite 200, is owned by ‘Albright Audio Creations, LLC’.”
Julian’s brow furrowed slightly. “What are you talking about, Chloe? That’s a production expense.”
“It’s not. Albright Audio Creations, LLC, is 100% owned by a trust fund under my birth name, Chloe Eleanor Albright.”
His eyes widened fractionally. The smile vanished.
“My grandmother, before she passed, set up an independent trust for my musical endeavors,” I continued, speaking slowly. “It’s entirely separate from any income I earn as an actress under my stage name. The LLC purchased the building outright for $1.2 million three years ago.”
“That’s impossible,” Julian scoffed, but the conviction in his voice wavered. “The network has records…”
“The network leases the space from Albright Audio Creations, LLC,” I corrected him. “They don’t own it. The lease agreement is clear.”
I watched him process this. His hands, which had been so confidently resting on the documents, now lay flat, almost rigid, on the desk. He thought he had all the leverage. He thought he knew everything about my finances.
The twist of the knife was visible on his face: I had a financial life he knew nothing about, completely outside his control. He couldn’t freeze a stipend that wasn’t solely tied to the studio, nor could he force me to sign over a deed to something I owned outright, financed by a private trust.
His voice was a low growl now. “You lied to me.”
“I never said I didn’t own it,” I replied. “You assumed. That’s a very different thing.”
He slammed his hand on the desk, the documents scattering. “This changes nothing! We still need access to that studio, Chloe. My mother needs that space.”
“Then you’ll have to lease it from Albright Audio Creations, LLC,” I said, rising from my chair. “At a fair market rate. Just like everyone else.”
I turned and walked out, leaving him alone in the dimly lit office, the papers still scattered across his desk, his financial leverage dissolved into thin air.
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