Chapter 3 - The Cold Audit
BANG!
The heavy mahogany door of the estate's private security office crashed open.
Arthur, the towering chief of Vance Security and a former Special Forces commander who had served Julian for fifteen years, stepped into the room followed by four armed guards.
In the center of the main study sat Evelyn, pacing nervously while her son, Carter—a arrogant, lazy young man dressed in a silk robe—sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone with a bored expression.
"Mom, chill out," Carter said, tossing his phone onto the table. "Julian won't do anything crazy. You're his legal wife. If he divorces you, you get half his estate anyway. Plus, who is he gonna believe? A spoiled nineteen-year-old brat or you?"
Before Evelyn could reply, Julian walked into the study.
He was no longer holding Maya; his hands were buried deep in his coat pockets. The grief on his face had completely vanished, replaced by the terrifying, cold-blooded composure of a corporate predator who was about to execute a rival.
Behind him walked three men in dark charcoal suits carrying heavy metal briefcases—Julian’s senior forensic accountants and legal counsel.
"Carter," Julian spoke softly, taking a seat at his desk. "Get off my furniture."
Carter scoffed, crossing his legs. "Look, Julian, I know you're upset about the maid thing, but Maya was really out of line while you were away. She—"
SMACK!
Arthur stepped forward and grabbed Carter by the back of his silk robe, pulling him off the sofa and slamming him onto the hardwood floor with effortless precision.
"Hey! Get your hands off me!" Carter yelled, scrambling to his feet, his face red with humiliation. "Mom! Tell him!"
"Julian!" Evelyn shrieked. "How dare you let your hired thugs touch my son in our house?!"
"This is not your house, Evelyn," Julian said calmly, opening a leather binder on his desk. "This house is owned entirely by the Elena Vance Memorial Trust—a private entity created eighteen years ago in honor of Maya's late mother. You have zero legal ownership of a single brick in this building."
Julian looked up at his senior legal advisor. "Mr. Vance, proceed."
The lead attorney stepped forward, opening a thick document. "Mrs. Vance—or rather, Ms. Evelyn Thorne—three hours ago, upon Mr. Vance’s instruction, we executed an emergency freeze on all joint accounts, credit lines, and offshore trusts associated with your name."
Evelyn froze, her heart dropping into her stomach. "What?!"
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"Furthermore," the attorney continued, "our forensic accounting team tracked three point two million dollars transferred from the Vance Logistics operating fund over the last ninety days into a private shell company registered under your son Carter's name in Nevis."
Julian leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. "That's grand larceny, embezzlement, and wire fraud, Evelyn. In this state, that carries a minimum sentence of twenty-five years in a maximum-security state facility."
