Chapter 4 - Blood Money
At 7:00 AM the next morning, Valerie’s private office door in downtown Phoenix opened, and Clara Morales walked in. Clara was not just Valerie’s executive assistant; she was a former forensic auditor whom Valerie had personally headhunted three years ago.
Clara set a piping hot double espresso on the desk along with a heavy manila folder stuffed with printouts.
“You look like you survived a war zone,” Clara said quietly, her eyes lingering on Valerie’s swollen lip.
“I didn't survive it, Clara. I started it,” Valerie said, sliding the folder toward herself. “Did you run the forensic trace on the secondary accounts?”
“I did,” Clara said, pulling up a chair and leaning forward. Her expression grew dark. “Valerie, you’re not going to believe what Mason and his mother have been doing for the last eighteen months.”
Valerie opened the file.
When Valerie had given Beatrice $1,500 every month for “spending money” and allowed her access to the household debit card for groceries, she had never scrutinized the itemized statements. She was running a ninety-million-dollar logistics operation; she had foolishly trusted her husband to manage domestic oversight.
According to Clara’s audit, Beatrice hadn't just been buying silk blouses and having brunch.
Every month, thousands of dollars in cash back had been systematically withdrawn at grocery store registers across the valley. Furthermore, Mason had opened a shell LLC titled “Apex Media Partners”—a dummy company registered under his cousin’s name. Over the past two years, Mason had routed over $280,000 from their joint home improvement line of credit into this shell entity.
“Where did the money go, Clara?” Valerie asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
“Mason wasn't building a marketing business,” Clara said, pulling out a printout of bank wire transfers. “He was funding a luxury lifestyle for someone else. Look at the lease agreement on this high-rise condo in downtown Tempe. Six thousand dollars a month. Paid entirely by Apex Media.”
Valerie stared at the tenant name listed on the lease: **Tiffany Vance**.
A twenty-four-year-old fitness influencer Mason had supposedly hired eighteen months ago to “manage social media branding” for his nonexistent startup.
The puzzle pieces clicked into place with horrifying precision. Beatrice had known. Chloe had known. The entire Sterling family had turned Valerie into an unwitting sponsor of Mason’s secret life, laughing behind her back while she worked eighty-hour weeks to sustain their illusions.
Valerie slowly closed the folder. The sting in her lip vanished, replaced by an intoxicating surge of cold, calculating adrenaline.
“Clara,” Valerie whispered.
“Yes, boss?”
May you like
“Call Marcus Vance at Vance & Sterling Legal Associates. Tell him to cancel his morning appointments. I don't just want a divorce. I want total financial decimation.”
***