Chapter 3 - The Dissolution Of The Miami Shell
Greg’s face drained of every drop of color, his jaw slackening as he stared at the paper in Richard's hand.
"That's impossible," Greg stammered, his eyes darting toward Emily, who was still kneeling near the entrance of the house wrapped in her cardigan.
Emily slowly pulled herself up using the deck railing, her long blonde hair falling over her dusty rose maternity dress.
She did not look at her husband with anger; her expression was one of profound, cold detachment, the product of months of quiet psychological abuse.
"Dad filed the emergency forensic audit three weeks ago, Greg," Emily spoke, her voice steady despite her visible pallor.
"Every wire transfer you sent to Jessica’s personal checking accounts in San Antonio was flagged by the Department of the Treasury."
Jessica took another step backward toward the dark interior of the living room, her mind racing as she calculated her exposure.
"I didn't take any federal money!" Jessica shrieked, clutching the emerald robe tightly around her neck. "Greg gave me gifts! That's not a crime!"
Richard stepped between Jessica and the open glass doors, blocking her only avenue of escape into the five-thousand-square-foot home.
"Grand theft under Texas penal code section 31.03 exceeding two hundred thousand dollars is a first-degree felony, young lady," Richard said quietly.
"And considering my family's foundation funded the local district attorney's campaign, you will be answering those questions by morning."
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Greg suddenly lunged from his position near the doghouse, reaching for Emily's ankle in a desperate, frantic attempt to force a negotiation.
Before his fingers could graze her leather shoes, Richard’s heavy leather dress shoe planted firmly onto Greg’s wrist, pinning it flat against the cedar planks.
