Chapter 3 - THE AUDIT TRAILThe next morning, the Manhattan sun broke through the gray remnants of the storm, casting brilliant, blinding shafts of light across the hardwood floors of the master suite. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping a cup of hot lemon water while watching the distant flow of morning traffic across the George Washington Bridge.
My phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand.
I glanced at the screen. Thirty-four missed calls from Julian. Twelve frantic text messages from Eleanor, alternating between hysterical begging and venomous curses. And half a dozen emails from Julian’s former colleagues at Apex Global, frantically asking why the executive vice president’s corporate keycard had been deactivated at 6:00 AM.
I ignored them all, swiping the notifications away with a flick of my thumb.
A soft knock sounded at the double doors of the suite, and Marcus stepped inside, carrying a thick leather-bound ledger and a fresh cup of coffee.
“Morning, Chief,” Marcus greeted casually, walking over to drop the ledger onto the marble-topped vanity. “Word travels fast in the financial district. By breakfast time, half of Wall Street knew that Julian’s golden parachute had been replaced with an anvil.”
I turned away from the window, resting a hand on my bump. “How is the forensic audit coming along? Does Eleanor’s Ohio shell company go deeper than just Marcus’s estate?”
Marcus pulled a tablet from his briefcase, tapping the screen to bring up a complex web of financial flowcharts. “Much deeper. It turns out Eleanor wasn't just funding her younger son’s extravagant lifestyle. She was using Apex Global’s subsidiary accounts to funnel illegal kickbacks from three of our primary logistics vendors. In exchange for inflating their supply contracts, they were sliding twenty percent back into a private trust fund registered in Eleanor’s maiden name.”
I raised an eyebrow, feeling a cold, satisfied thrill wash over me. “So she wasn't just a parasite living off our household—she was actively committing corporate embezzlement using Julian as her unwitting proxy.”
“Unwitting is putting it generously,” Marcus laughed dryly. “Julian was too arrogant and lazy to read his own expense reports. He signed off on every single quarterly disbursement without blinking an eye because he assumed his mother was a financial genius. The federal investigators we’ve been quietly briefing since last night are already drawing up the indictments. Eleanor is looking at a minimum of eight to ten years in a federal penitentiary for wire fraud and money laundering.”
“And Julian?” I asked quietly, a trace of lingering melancholy pulling at the edges of my heart—not for him, but for the ghost of the man I thought I had married five years ago.
“Julian is legally clean of the direct embezzlement, thanks to our pre-nup firewall protecting the core holding company,” Marcus explained, his expression turning serious. “However, because he willfully signed off on the fraudulent vendor invoices as VP of Operations, he’s facing severe civil liability, professional blacklisting, and a multi-million-dollar restitution suit from Apex Global. His credit score is currently plummeting faster than a lead balloon, and every major corporate recruiter in the tristate area has been quietly tipped off about his incompetence.”
“Good,” I said firmly, turning back to look at the Manhattan skyline. “Let him experience what it’s like to build something from absolute zero without a safety net, a wealthy wife, or a mother to bail him out.”
The door chimed softly, indicating someone was at the private elevator lobby downstairs. A moment later, the house intercom buzzed.
“Mrs. Sterling?” the head security officer’s voice crackled through the speaker. “There’s a gentleman downstairs insisting on seeing you. He says his name is Mr. Ambrose, and he claims he has an urgent business proposal regarding Julian’s recent unemployment.”
Marcus and I exchanged a sharp, knowing look.
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Julian’s old debts and desperate desperation were already starting to rot at the edges.
“Send him up to the formal parlor,” I instructed smoothly. “Let’s see what kind of scavengers are already picking at the bones of Julian’s shattered career.”
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