AUDIT OF A BROKEN VOW

The Sinclair estate in Myers Park was a sprawling brick Georgian manor hidden behind eight-foot wrought iron gates and towering magnolias. When Julian and I pulled up two blocks away in an unmarked sedan, two patrol cars from the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department were already idling in the shadows, accompanied by an assistant district attorney Julian had pulled out of a dinner party with a single phone call.

"We have probable cause based on Brianna’s signed sworn statement and the emergency preservation order," ADA Marcus Vance (no relation, but a bulldog of a prosecutor) stated, adjusting his overcoat as he walked toward our car window. "If they're destroying physical evidence subject to an active court order, this turns into immediate obstruction."

"Let's make sure they don't have time to flush the ashes," I said.

We walked up the winding driveway under the cold November drizzle. The front windows of the Sinclair mansion were dark, but bright light spilled from the detached carriage house at the rear of the property. Through the tall French windows, two silhouettes were clearly visible: Preston Wade and Gerald Sinclair.

Preston had his sleeves rolled up, feeding thick stacks of manila folders into a commercial cross-cut shredder that was humming loudly enough to be heard from the patio. Gerald stood over a mahogany desk, rapidly packing backup drives into a metal briefcase.

Marcus Vance didn't bother knocking softly. He banged heavily on the glass door with his brass-knobbed walking stick. "Charlotte Police Department! Open the door!"

Inside, Preston jumped so violently he dropped an entire stack of ledger papers onto the hardwood floor. Gerald froze, his hand hovering over the lock of his briefcase.

When Gerald opened the door, his face was a mask of cold fury. "What is the meaning of this outrage? This is private residential property. You are trespassing!"

"Mr. Sinclair, I have a signed search and seizure warrant for all records pertaining to Apex Horizon, Wade Development, and the Simone Vance Irrevocable Trust," Marcus Vance declared, stepping right past him and presenting the signed judicial order. "Step away from the shredder immediately, Mr. Wade."

Preston looked like a cornered animal. His hair was disheveled, sweat was beading across his forehead, and his eyes were wild with fear. When he saw me standing behind the two uniform officers, his expression crumbled into disbelief.

"Simone?" he gasped, his voice cracking. "You brought the police to Gerald’s home? Have you completely lost your mind? We could have worked this out! We could have settled this between us!"

"Worked it out, Preston?" I stepped forward, pointing at the heap of shredded documents spilling from the plastic bin. "By destroying evidence? By letting Gerald frame your twenty-six-year-old mistress for felony fraud while you stole my family's legacy to cover your bad debts?"

"She wasn't just my mistress, Simone!" Preston screamed, losing his composure completely. "She was the only way this company was going to survive! Do you know how hard it was to pretend I cared about your boring spreadsheets while my entire life was collapsing? You were never enough! You were just an auditor who thought she could control me!"

The officers stepped forward, clicking their handcuffs off their utility belts.

"Preston Wade, Gerald Sinclair, step away from the desks and place your hands behind your backs," the lead officer commanded.

Gerald Sinclair didn't scream or make excuses. He simply looked at me with cold, venomous hatred. "You think you've won something here, little girl? My lawyers will have me out on bail before the sun comes up. You won't see a single dime from Wade Development. The company will be bankrupt by Friday, and you'll be left with nothing but worthless paper."

"Wade Development might be bankrupt, Mr. Sinclair," I replied with a steady, frigid smile. "But your offshore accounts in Grand Cayman won't be. Brianna handed over the encryption keys twenty minutes ago."