Chapter 4 - The Audit of the Damned
Thirty minutes later, Elena and Sophia were wrapped in heavy woolen blankets in the back of my private town car, attended by Dr. Alan Vance, a trusted family physician I had summoned directly from his home in downtown Boston.
I stood in my mother’s private second-floor study, the mahogany desk illuminated by a single green-shaded banker’s lamp.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Marcus Vance, my head of corporate security and legal affairs, strode into the room holding a thick stack of printed financial ledgers and bank statements. His face was grim, tight-lipped.
“You were right, boss,” Marcus said without preamble, slapping the papers down onto the polished wood. “I hacked the estate’s secondary accounts and tied them into your personal wire logs. For the past twenty-four months, every single penny you sent for Elena’s medical care and housing was diverted into three offshore shell companies.”
“Who controls the shell companies?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
“Your mother. And your cousin, Julian,” Marcus replied, sliding a final sheet of paper across the desk. “Furthermore, the Boston city property records show that Elena’s townhouse downtown was sold eighteen months ago. Victoria forged Elena’s signature on the deed, pocketed the two million dollar payout, and locked them in that basement the week after you left for the London expansion.”
I looked down at the forged signature. The shaky, forced lines. My mother had condemned my wife to a dungeon while cashing in on our home and bleeding my accounts dry.
“And the local police?” I asked.
“Chief Miller was at the gala tonight. He’s been on your mother’s payroll for a decade,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “If you call the local precinct, they’ll lock you up on a fabricated charge of domestic assault for what you did in the ballroom, and sweep Elena right back under the rug.”
I picked up my phone. “Good thing I’m not calling the local precinct.”
“Who are you calling?”
May you like
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, White-Collar Division. Special Agent Thomas Vance is an old debt of mine,” I said, dialing a direct, encrypted number. “And wake up our corporate restructuring team. I want every single corporate asset frozen, every bank account seized, and every lien placed on the Sterling estate before the stock market opens at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.”
Marcus grinned—a cold, humorless expression. “It’ll be done before the coffee gets cold.”
