Chapter 3 - The Audit
The drive-thru cheeseburgers were the best meal I’d had in months. Noah fell asleep in the passenger seat on the way home, his head resting against the window, a peaceful expression on his face. Seeing him so calm solidified my resolve. I was done being the family doormat.
The next morning, I didn’t go to the office. Instead, I drove straight to the sleek downtown offices of Vance & associates, the most ruthless financial litigation firm in the city.
Marcus Vance, a sharp-eyed lawyer who looked like a shark in a tailored suit, sat across from me as I laid out the folder I had demanded the restaurant manager copy for me. Beside him sat a forensic accountant. For three hours, we meticulously traced the financial bleed.
“It’s actually worse than you thought,” Marcus said, adjusting his glasses as he looked at the printed bank statements. “Your mother didn’t just authorize payments for the vacation home. She’s been systematically moving smaller amounts—three hundred here, five hundred there—into a hidden LLC owned by your brother. They categorized it under your company's ‘miscellaneous vendor expenses.’”
My stomach churned. “How long?”
“At least two years,” the accountant chimed in. “The total stolen funds exceed $150,000. Because this crossed state lines into the lake house property, and because it involves wire fraud, this isn’t just a civil matter, Claire. This is a federal felony.”
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. My mother. My own brother. They had looked me in the eye, smiled at my son, and treated us like garbage while silently draining my life’s work.
“What are my options?” I asked.
“If you report it to the bank as fraud, they are legally obligated to report it to the authorities. Your brother will likely face jail time, and your mother could be charged as an accomplice,” Marcus explained bluntly. “Or, you can demand quiet restitution. But given that his card declined for an $11,000 dinner, I doubt he has the liquid assets to pay you back.”
“Report it,” I said without a second of hesitation. “All of it.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. Usually, clients hesitated when family was involved. “Consider it done. I’ll also draft a cease-and-desist letter to prevent them from contacting you or Noah.”
By the time I returned home, my phone was a graveyard of missed calls and frantic text messages.
Mom: Claire, please pick up. We need to talk about this as a family.
Eric: You’re overreacting. It was an investment. I was going to pay you back.
Aunt Susan: I can’t believe you walked out on your father’s retirement! The police had to be called to the restaurant because Eric couldn’t pay! You are so selfish.
I blocked every single one of them.
That evening, the doorbell rang. I checked the security camera on my phone. It was Sarah, Eric’s wife. She looked disheveled, her makeup smeared, holding a casserole dish as if baked goods could fix grand larceny.
I opened the door but kept the screen locked. “Leave, Sarah.”
“Claire, please,” she begged, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Eric’s bank accounts are frozen. The credit cards are maxed. We don’t have money for the kids’ school tuition next week. You have to call the bank and tell them it was a misunderstanding!”
“Did you know about the lake house?” I asked coldly.
She hesitated, looking down at the porch. “It… it was supposed to be an investment property. Eric said he was handling the financing.”
“You knew,” I concluded. “You knew, and you sat there last night, drinking $1,000 wine, and laughed when your husband handed my son a hotdog.”
“I’m sorry! I’ll apologize to Noah!”
May you like
“You won’t ever come near Noah again,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Tell Eric the audit is finished. He stole $150,000. The FBI will probably be in touch by Friday.”
I closed the wooden door, locking the deadbolt. For the first time in my life, I felt completely, utterly free.
