Chapter 2 - The Cold Light Of The Audit Room
The air inside the fifth-floor conference room of Croft & Mercer Legal was sharp, sterile, and smelled faintly of fresh ink and cold espresso.
My lead forensic accountant, Arthur Vance, laid out five thick blue binders across the dark glass conference table with a heavy, ominous thud.
“Clara, what we uncovered in the first twelve hours of this audit goes far beyond domestic exploitation,” Arthur stated, his voice flat and gravely serious.
“Five years ago, three weeks after your wedding, a secondary corporate line was opened using your maiden name, Social Security number, and forged digital signature.”
I sat with an ice pack pressed against the dark purple bruise blooming across my left cheekbone, my lip still swollen where Julian’s ring had split the skin.
“Which bank, Arthur?” I asked, my voice steady, cold, and stripped of every ounce of emotion I had wasted on that family over five years.
“First National of Virginia,” Arthur replied, opening the first binder to reveal a series of wire transfers stamped with high-priority offshore routing numbers.
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“Over six hundred thousand dollars didn’t just pay for Serena’s designer bags or Richard’s alleged medical treatments.”
“It was funneled directly into a commercial development firm registered under Teresa’s maiden name in Wilmington, Delaware.”
