Chapter 3 - The Shadow Paperwork
On Monday morning, while Evan was at his office downtown, Lauren went to work.
She didn't visit a divorce lawyer immediately. Instead, she took a taxi to an unpretentious brick building on 17th Street in downtown Denver, taking the service elevator to the fourth floor.
The door read: Kensington & Associates — Private Asset Investigations.
Marcus Kensington was a retired federal forensic investigator with white hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a reputation for breaking high-net-worth individuals who thought offshore trusts made them invincible.
"Mrs. Bennett," Marcus said, gesturing for her to sit in a leather armchair across from his desk. "Your call on Saturday was quite specific."
Lauren pulled an encrypted flash drive from her coat pocket and set it on the glass desk.
"That drive contains five years of joint tax returns, corporate filings for Bennett Financial Holdings, and router transfer receipts from our home IP address," Lauren said concisely. "I want to know three things."
Marcus leaned back, resting his hands over his stomach. "Go on."
"First, I want to know how much of my grandfather's five-million-dollar seed trust has been commingled with corporate assets used to purchase properties registered to Chloe Vance or Aura Media Relations."
"Second?"
"I want proof of every personal transaction Evan has executed using company funds during his trips to Chicago, Scottsdale, and Aspen over the last eighteen months."
"And third?"
Lauren looked Marcus directly in the eye. "I want to know if Arthur Vance knows his daughter is sleeping with the managing partner of the firm he’s about to invest fifteen million dollars into."
Marcus offered a slow, appreciative nod. "You don't just want a divorce, Mrs. Bennett. You're building a corporate foreclosure."
"I am pregnant, Mr. Kensington," Lauren said flatly, her voice unyielding. "My husband discarded me on the tarmac of Denver International while I carried his child. He used my family's money to build a paradise for his mistress. I am not going to settle for alimony and a split home. I am going to reclaim what belongs to my child."
Marcus smiled—a dry, professional expression. "My team will have the complete financial tracing report ready in ten days. What are you doing in the meantime?"
"In the meantime," Lauren said, standing up and buttoning her wool coat, "I'm going to play the devoted, unsuspecting wife."
She left the office and walked three blocks to Denver St. Anthony’s Hospital for her second prenatal ultrasound.
The doctor’s office was quiet, filled with the soft hum of medical monitors. Lauren lay on the exam table, the clear gel cold against her lower abdomen, watching the black-and-white screen as the technician adjusted the wand.
"There," the technician smiled, turning the monitor toward Lauren. "See that flutter? That's the heartbeat. Strong and steady. Eight weeks along."
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
The sound filled the room.
Lauren looked at the tiny shape on the screen, tears silently spilling over her eyelashes and tracing down her cheeks. She touched her stomach with trembling fingers.
May you like
"You are safe," she whispered to the empty room as the technician stepped out to print the sonogram photos. "I promise you, my sweet baby. You will never have to pay for your father's sins."
She took the printed sonogram, placed it inside an opaque envelope, and stored it safely inside the fireproof box at home beside the positive test.
