Chapter 2 - The Audit and the Alias
By 8:00 a.m. the next morning, the shattered plates and stained tablecloth were gone, cleared away by a professional cleaning crew I’d called at dawn.
I sat at the dining table with a fresh cup of coffee, my laptop open, communicating directly with my corporate legal counsel and forensic accountant, David Vance.
“The HELOC application hasn’t been processed by the bank yet, Angela—er, Claire,” David said over the secure encrypted line. “Your credit freeze and corporate asset locks stopped it at 3:00 a.m. But looking deeper into Ethan’s digital footprint through the files you provided from his briefcase... it’s bad.”
“How bad, David?” I asked, scrolling through a PDF of bank transfers.
“Over the last fourteen months, he’s systematically diverted nearly four hundred thousand dollars from your joint operational accounts into a private holding account under the name Apex Ventures. That’s the shell company he used to buy the Naperville house for Madison Miller.”
Madison Miller.
The name clicked into place. She was a junior marketing coordinator who had worked at a firm adjacent to Ethan’s networking circle. Ethan had introduced her to me once at a charity gala as “a bright young professional needing mentorship.”
Mentorship apparently included buying her a four-bedroom house and getting her pregnant while living off my revenue.
“Can we claw it all back?” I asked coldly.
“Every single dime,” David replied with a sharp edge in his voice. “Between the fraudulent loan attempts, the asset diversion, and the forged digital signatures on your corporate filings, we have enough to freeze his personal assets, strip him of any spousal support claims under your prenuptial agreement’s adultery and fraud clauses, and hand the entire file over to the state’s attorney for criminal prosecution.”
“Do it,” I said. “I want every motion filed by noon.”
At 9:30 a.m., my doorbell rang.
I checked the security monitor. It wasn't Ethan.
It was Diane, standing on my doorstep alone, wearing her Sunday best pearl necklace and a tight, defensive scowl, holding a leather tote bag as if she were inspecting a hotel room she planned to complain about.
I pressed the intercom button. “You’re trespassing, Diane.”
Her voice squawked through the speaker. “Open this door right now, Claire! Ethan is beside himself! You locked him out of his own bank accounts, and he’s talking about police! We are family—you cannot treat my son like a criminal because of a little family dispute!”
“Diane,” I said smoothly, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Your son isn't just a cheat. He’s a criminal. And if you don't leave my property in the next sixty seconds, the security guards downstairs will escort you out—and I’ll make sure they press charges for your assault on my brother yesterday.”
Silence crackled over the intercom.
“You wouldn't—”
“Try me.”
A minute later, the security camera captured Diane turning on her heel, marching furiously toward the elevator, muttering curses under her breath.
I smiled, closed the intercom app, and looked over at Noah, who was sitting at the island eating a bowl of cereal, watching me with wide, admiring eyes.
May you like
“Ready to go to campus?” I asked him.
Noah grinned, a real, bright smile that reached his eyes for the first time in years. “Born ready, sis.”
