Chapter 5 - The Financial Autopsy
Three days after the bail hearing, Sloan sat in the conference room of Bennett & Associates on the forty-second floor of the downtown financial tower.
Spread across the twenty-foot mahogany table were bank statements, incorporation filings, shell company registrations, and wire transfer logs spanning six years.
Opposite Sloan sat Alaric Bennett and Teresa Cruz, a forensic accountant who spent fifteen years dismantling offshore money-laundering schemes for the federal government.
"Declan’s employer fired him this morning," Alaric said, tossing a printout of a corporate press release onto the table. "Vantage Global terminated his employment for cause, revoked his unvested stock options, and issued a statement condemning his actions in the strongest possible terms. He’s completely wiped out professionally."
"What about Una's five-million-dollar bail bond for Bellamy?" Sloan asked, her eyes scanning a spreadsheet of account balances.
Teresa Cruz pushed her reading glasses up her nose and laughed quietly. "Una tried to pledge the Hawthorne Ridge estate to a bail bondsman on Tuesday. The bondsman ran a title search and laughed in her face."
Sloan looked up. "Why?"
"Because Una doesn't own Hawthorne Ridge," Teresa said, pulling a red folder from the stack. "The house has been leveraged to the hilt. Una took out three separate home equity lines of credit over the last five years to fund Bellamy’s lifestyle brand. Bellamy’s luxury wardrobe, the studio renovations, the rented sports cars for her YouTube thumbnails, the paid bots that inflated her follower count—it was all funded by debt."
Sloan stared at the numbers. "How much debt?"
"Four point two million dollars across three private equity lenders," Teresa said. "Una was two months away from foreclosure when this incident occurred. She needed that sixty-thousand-dollar sponsorship from Lueur Cosmetics just to make the interest payment on the second mortgage."
"And that's not even the real bomb," Alaric added, leaning forward with a grim look. "Show her the trust transfers, Teresa."
Teresa slid an audit sheet toward Sloan.
Sloan’s breath caught in her throat.
"During your divorce," Teresa explained, "Declan agreed to replace the twenty-five thousand dollars he stole from Veta’s medical trust. And he did—on paper. But two years ago, Declan was appointed co-trustee of the Mercer Family Legacy Foundation, which was supposed to hold another five hundred thousand dollars left by his late father for Veta’s long-term specialized housing and continuous care."
"Where is the money?" Sloan’s voice was dangerously low.
"Declan transferred four hundred and eighty thousand dollars out of Veta’s legacy fund between March of last year and last month," Teresa said, tapping the red line items. "He funneled it through an LLC registered in Delaware called 'Velvet Lifestyle Media'—Bellamy’s shell company."
"They stole her care fund," Sloan whispered. "Her grandfather left her that money so she would never be trapped in a state facility if something happened to me."
"They didn't just steal it," Alaric said. "They spent it on Bellamy’s trip to Paris Fashion Week, her influencer retreat in Aspen, and Declan’s personal country club initiation fees. They treated Veta’s survival fund like an open ATM because they operated under the assumption that Veta would never live long enough to audit the books."
Sloan’s hands remained perfectly still on the conference table. But inside her chest, something ancient and primal solidified into diamond.
"Is this actionable criminally?" Sloan asked.
"Criminally and civilly," Alaric said. "It’s Wire Fraud, Embezzlement from a Vulnerable Adult, and Grand Larceny. Each transfer across state lines carries a mandatory ten-year federal sentencing enhancement. I took this package to the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District two hours ago. They are opening an emergency federal indictment against Declan, Bellamy, and Una Mercer for bank fraud and conspiracy to commit wire fraud."
Teresa Cruz took off her glasses. "Sloan, when the feds drop an indictment, they don't just ask for restitution. They freeze every single asset associated with the criminal enterprise. Una’s house, Bellamy’s bank accounts, Declan’s remaining retirement accounts—everything will be locked down under civil asset forfeiture."
"Good," Sloan said. "Let them feel what it’s like to lose access to the resources required to live."
Right then, Sloan’s phone buzzed.
It was a text from Kieran:
*Sloan. Una is at the hospital. She bypassed security at the main lobby using an old visitor badge from Declan’s company. She’s heading toward the PICU floor. Security is responding, but she’s already on the elevator.*
Sloan bolted upright, her chair skidding across the hardwood floor.
"Alaric. Get the police."
"Sloan, wait!"
"She is not touching my daughter," Sloan said.
May you like
By the time the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Sloan was already running toward her car.
***