Chapter 4 - The Audit
The following morning at eight o’clock sharp, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the main gates of Oakridge. Arthur buzzed it through, and two men in tailored charcoal suits stepped onto the front porch.
Marcus Sterling was sixty years old, with silver hair, a hawk-like nose, and the reputation of being the most merciless divorce and estate attorney in the tri-state area. Behind him was Julian Vance, Arthur’s younger brother and a certified senior forensic accountant.
I met them in the library, where fresh coffee and breakfast pastries were arranged on the table.
“Emma, my dear,” Marcus said, kissing my cheek gently before taking a seat. “I saw the footage last night. By the time I finished my morning coffee, I had already drafted an emergency ex parte protective order and a petition for absolute divorce.”
“Thank you, Marcus,” I said, handing Julian a leather-bound ledger. “But before we serve him, I need Julian to show me the full picture. How bad is the bleeding?”
Julian opened his heavy-duty laptop, plugging in a series of encrypted flash drives. Over the past twenty-four hours, since freezing Daniel’s company credit accounts, Julian had been granted full emergency access to Carter Construction’s corporate banking records, which Daniel had foolishly linked to my personal guarantee.
Julian adjusted his glasses, his expression grave. “Emma, you were under the impression that Carter Construction was struggling due to material supply costs.”
“That’s what Daniel told me every month when he asked me to cover the commercial line of credit,” I replied, frowning.
“Well, that was a lie,” Julian said bluntly, turning the laptop screen toward me. “Look at these disbursements over the last eighteen months. Daniel wasn’t losing money on lumber or steel. He was siphoning funds through a shell consulting agency registered in Delaware under the name ‘L.C. Heritage Holdings.’”
My breath caught in my throat. “L.C. Linda Carter.”
“Exactly,” Julian nodded. “Every time you deposited money to cover payroll or project deficits, Daniel transferred forty percent of those funds directly into Linda’s personal accounts. Over the past two years, your husband has funneled roughly four hundred and twenty thousand dollars of your family’s money to his mother.”
The room went completely silent.
Four hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
While I was driving my five-year-old Volvo and shopping at consignment stores for antique nursery furniture, Daniel was feeding hundreds of thousands of dollars to the woman who despised me.
“What did she spend it on?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Julian pulled up another spreadsheet. “High-end retail, a luxury timeshare in Cabo, personal cosmetic surgeries, and most recently, a deposit on a ninety-foot luxury yacht slip down at the marina. Linda was living like an oil heiress while telling the local community that her son was funding her golden years through his brilliant business acumen.”
Marcus leaned forward, tapping his gold pen against the legal pad. “This isn't just grounds for an immediate, fault-based divorce on the basis of cruelty and constructive abandonment, Emma. This is criminal fraud, embezzlement, and conversion of non-marital trust assets.”
“Can we recover it?” I asked.
Marcus smiled—a cold, predatory smile that made me understand why he charged a thousand dollars an hour. “Not only will we recover every single red cent, Emma, but because Daniel commingled these funds through accounts tied to your family’s trust, we have the legal right to place an immediate freeze on Linda Carter’s personal bank accounts, seize the titles to her vehicles, and place a lien on her suburban house.”
“She thinks she took everything from me yesterday,” I murmured, looking down at my hands.
“By the time we are finished with them,” Marcus said softly, “Linda Carter won't even own the shoes she walked into your pavilion with. Now, sign here, Emma. Let’s serve the papers.”
May you like
I took the pen and signed my name on the petition for divorce.
***