Chapter 6 - The Audit of the Past
The morning sun broke through the clearing storm clouds, casting a blinding, crystalline glare across the snow-covered grounds of the Armand estate. The air outside was crisp, freezing, and utterly still.
Inside the home office on the second floor, the atmosphere was industrious and focused.
Abigail sat behind the large oak desk, reviewing the corrected financial statements Marcus Vance had couriered over before dawn. Beside her, a stack of baby clothes—tiny wool cardigans, soft cotton sleepers, and miniature cashmere socks—lay folded neatly in wicker baskets, gifts sent by the Pendeltons as a peace offering for the board's oversight.
The door swung open, and Rowan walked in carrying two large mugs of dark roast coffee. He set one down on the blotter before leaning against the edge of the desk.
“Marcus just called from his office in Boston,” Rowan said, blowing gently across the surface of his coffee. “Federal investigators executed a search warrant on Celeste’s pied-à-terre on Beacon Street early this morning. They found three additional offshore accounts, forged real estate deeds, and a cache of personal correspondence proving she’s been skimming from family trusts for over five years.”
Abigail paused, her pen hovering over the ledger. “Five years? So this wasn't just about me or our marriage?”
“Not by a long shot,” Rowan sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Celeste has been living way beyond her means for a decade, maintaining high-society debts by quietly siphoning fractional percentages from various Armand foundation holdings. She thought she could use our marriage as a convenient scapegoat—pinning her multi-year embezzlement scheme on the ‘newcomer’ while she liquidated the remaining assets and fled to Europe.”
“And instead, she exposed her entire operation because she couldn't resist the urge to torment me while you were away,” Abigail noted, shaking her head at the sheer hubris of it all.
“Arrogance is a fatal flaw in our family,” Rowan murmured dryly. “Fortunately, the board has authorized a complete, independent forensic audit of every foundation account dating back to 2018. Celeste won't just be facing prison time; she’ll be financially stripped down to the clothes on her back.”
Abigail looked up at him, studying the subtle lines of fatigue around his eyes. “You’re mourning the idea of her, aren't you? Not the person she became, but the sister you thought you had.”
Rowan was quiet for a long moment. He looked out the window toward the frozen coastline, his expression unreadable.
“I grew up with her, Abby,” he said quietly. “When our parents passed away, it was just the two of us against the world. I thought I protected her, that I provided for her. I never saw the rot underneath. Finding out she was capable of terrorizing my pregnant wife under my own roof... it’s a hard pill to swallow.”
Abigail stood up from the desk, wincing slightly as the baby shifted, and walked over to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest.
May you like
“You survived it,” she whispered. “We survived it.”
Rowan wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her hair. “Yeah. We did.”
