Chapter 3 - The Audit
By nine o'clock the following morning, the third-floor boardroom of Halstead Logistics headquarters was flooded with the sharp, pale light of an autumn morning.
Around the twenty-foot teak table sat twelve senior department heads, two external auditing teams from Deloitte, and four corporate security officers standing at the doors.
I sat at the head of the table in Richard’s old leather swivel chair. My walking stick rested against the armrest, and my hair was styled neatly to cover the bruises along my jawline.
“Item one,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet murmur of rustling paper. “The forensic audit of the development division.”
David Miller, the thirty-four-year-old chief financial officer whom Evan had personally hired two years ago, cleared his throat nervously. He adjusted his silk tie, refusing to look me in the eye.
“Mrs. Halstead,” Miller began, his hands trembling slightly as he opened his tablet. “The development division’s records are... complex. Evan was directing several proprietary software integrations for our regional shipping hubs. Certain funds were reallocated to private contractors under NDA—”
“Cut the jargon, David,” I interrupted flatly. “How much did he steal?”
The room went so quiet that the faint hum of the HVAC system sounded like a jet engine.
Miller swallowed hard. “The... the unauthorized disbursements over the past eighteen months total four point two million dollars.”
A sharp intake of breath echoed around the table. Two older board members leaned back in their chairs, their faces dark with shock.
“Four point two million,” I repeated, my tone as measured as if reading a grocery list. “And where did those funds go?”
Miller looked down at his tablet. “Six shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands. All six accounts list Evan Halstead as the sole beneficial owner. Three of those accounts were liquidated forty-eight hours ago.”
“To cover his offshore margin accounts,” Miriam added from her seat beside me. “He wasn't just gambling in harbor dens, gentlemen. He was shorting Halstead Logistics stock using stolen corporate capital.”
Miller’s face went chalk-white. “Mrs. Halstead, I... I was under the impression that Evan had your authorization! He produced signed board resolutions—”
“Which were forged,” I said, picking up a pen and signing the document in front of me. “David, you are terminated effective immediately. Security will escort you to your office to gather your personal items. Your corporate devices are seized, and Detective Hayes is waiting for you in the lobby.”
Miller didn't fight. He stood up slowly, his knees shaking, and walked toward the door between two security officers.
I turned my attention back to the remaining board members.
“Halstead Logistics will not absorb this loss silently,” I declared, placing both hands flat on the teak wood. “We are filing full criminal charges against Evan Halstead for corporate embezzlement, wire fraud, and grand larceny. We are filing civil suits against every entity that accepted stolen corporate funds.”
Old Thomas Vance—Richard’s former partner—looked at me with genuine concern.
“Eleanor,” he said gently. “If you file criminal charges, he faces twenty years in a federal penitentiary. He is your only son.”
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I looked Thomas directly in the eye, feeling no heat, no anger—only the cool, absolute clarity of a woman who had pulled herself up from twelve marble steps.
“Richard built this company to feed three thousand families, Thomas,” I said softly. “Evan tried to burn it down to pay for his vanity. My son died the moment he stepped over my bleeding body.”
