Chapter 5 - Unearthing the Shadow LLC
By Wednesday evening, the fallout from Patrick’s arrest at Lincoln Elementary had rippled through every legal and social channel in the county.
Patrick’s bail had been set at twenty-five thousand dollars—a sum he would normally have paid with a casual swipe of his card. But with his personal accounts frozen under the bank’s fraud investigation and his corporate credit cut off by his former partners, he had sat in the county holding cell for twenty-four hours until my mother, Eleanor, mortgaged her own retirement savings to post his bond.
When Tobias told me that over coffee in my kitchen, I didn't even flinch. Eleanor had always preferred playing the savior to deadbeats rather than facing the truth of her own toxic family dynamic.
“Let her spend her retirement on him,” I said, pouring hot water into my French press. “When the civil judgments land, that bail money will be forfeited to satisfy Rosie’s restitution anyway.”
Tobias smiled slightly, taking a seat at the island. Beside him sat Julian Vance, who had brought three banker boxes filled with printouts, bank records, and hard drives.
“Julian,” I said, sliding a mug across the counter to him. “What did you find in the LLC’s secondary ledgers?”
Julian adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, pulling a thick blue folder from the top box. “Patrick was arrogant, Cecily, but Maris was reckless. Patrick at least understood basic accounting principles. Maris, on the other hand, treated *M&P Horizons* like her personal piggy bank, leaving digital fingerprints all over the state’s corporate filings.”
Julian spread four documents across the island.
“First: Maris’s public relations firm, *Thorne Media*, has been operating at a massive loss for eighteen months,” Julian explained, tapping the top ledger. “She kept the appearance of a glamorous, high-rolling lifestyle by borrowing against Patrick’s architectural firm. But that’s not the worst of it. Look at this property transaction from November of last year.”
I leaned in, scanning the legal description of the property. The address leaped off the page.
*442 Elm Ridge Road.*
My breath caught. “That’s our family’s summer cottage in Lake Geneva. The one my grandparents built.”
“Correction,” Julian said grimly. “It *was* your family’s cottage. In November, Maris filed a fraudulent power of attorney, claiming Eleanor had granted her full conservatorship over family estate assets. Maris then sold the Lake Geneva cottage to an offshore shell company—which, surprise, is wholly owned by *M&P Horizons*—for a nominal fee of ten dollars.”
I gripped the edge of the granite counter, the fury boiling hot beneath my skin. “She stole my grandparents’ cottage? Mom loved that place! Mom spends every August there!”
“Your mother doesn’t know,” Tobias interjected, his voice heavy with disgust. “Maris told Eleanor that the lake cottage was under extensive renovation to repair black mold, which is why Eleanor couldn't visit this past spring. In reality, Patrick and Maris have been using that cottage as a weekend hideaway for their affair. And two months ago, they took out a private bridge loan against the cottage for three hundred thousand dollars.”
“Where did that three hundred thousand go?” I demanded.
Julian turned to the next page. “A private fertility clinic in Zurich, Switzerland.”
I froze. “Zurich? I thought they went to the Mercer Clinic in town.”
“The Mercer Clinic was just for routine monitoring and preliminary procedures,” Julian said. “The actual genetic work—the expensive, high-level IVF procedures—was contracted through a specialized clinic in Zurich that guarantees gender selection and high-yield embryonic implantation. Total cost: two hundred and eighty thousand dollars, paid in full via wire transfer from the cottage bridge loan.”
The sheer scope of their greed made my head spin. They hadn't just had a sleazy office romance. They had methodically plundered every single generational asset my family possessed to build a designer fantasy life on the corpses of our marriages.
“Tobias,” I said, turning to him. “Did you know Maris wanted a baby this badly? You two were married for seven years.”
Tobias let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Maris never wanted a baby, Cecily. She despised children. She complained constantly about Rosie’s toys, Rosie’s noise, Rosie’s existence. When I had my vasectomy in 2019, it was at *her* insistence. She told me children would ruin her figure, destroy her freedom, and tie her down.”
He paused, his eyes darkening with painful realization.
“She didn't want a baby. She wanted an anchor. Maris knew Patrick was weak, vain, and easily manipulated. But she also knew Patrick loved Rosie. A baby was the ultimate leverage to ensure Patrick left you, stayed with her, and gave her perpetual access to whatever wealth he could steal.”
“And now she’s trapped,” I said, the pieces snapping together with terrifying precision. “Patrick has been fired. His firm is suing him for civil fraud. The bank has seized the Marina penthouse. The bridge loan on the cottage is in default because they haven't made a payment in sixty days. And Patrick has a criminal record for trespassing and disorderly conduct.”
“Exactly,” Julian said, closing the folder with a satisfying thud. “They have zero liquidity. They have negative net worth. Patrick is living on your mother’s pull-out sofa, and Maris is running out of money to pay her PR staff. By the end of this week, the house of cards won’t just collapse. It will implode.”
“We need to strike now,” I said, looking between Julian and Tobias. “Before Patrick tries to liquidate any remaining assets or flee.”
“What’s the play?” Tobias asked.
“Tomorrow is the Mercer County Business Gala,” I said, a cold, predatory smile spreading across my face. “The annual fundraising dinner for the Children’s Hospital. Maris’s firm has been running the event’s PR campaign for five years. It’s her crowning social achievement. The entire city’s elite will be there: the mayor, the hospital board, corporate donors... and Arthur Sterling, Patrick’s former managing partner.”
Tobias raised an eyebrow. “Maris is still planning to attend? After everything?”
“Maris’s narcissism is her Achilles’ heel,” I answered. “She thinks that because the ER cleared her, she can play the pregnant, persecuted martyr. She posted on her Instagram this morning that she is ‘rising above the toxic drama of jealous family members’ and attending the gala to support the children.”
Erin, who had been sitting quietly in the corner reviewing the guest list on her tablet, looked up with an evil grin. “And guess who happens to be the lead corporate donor for the Children’s Hospital’s financial literacy foundation this year?”
Tobias blinked. “Who?”
“My firm,” I said simply. “I just finalized the endowment from my father’s family trust this afternoon. Which means I don’t just have a ticket to the gala, Tobias.”
I picked up my coffee mug, taking a slow, deliberate sip.
May you like
“I have the keynote address.”
***