Chapter 3 - The Financial Autopsy
The next morning, the neighborhood was suffocatingly quiet.
By 8:00 a.m., I had the locks changed, the security codes wiped, and a contractor draining the cedar hot tub. I was never going to look at that wooden monstrosity again. It was scheduled to be demolished and hauled to the dump by noon.
I sat at my kitchen island, sipping black coffee, completely immune to the exhaustion vibrating in my bones.
Across from me sat Arthur Vance, Julian’s older brother, and a senior partner at a prominent wealth management firm. Arthur had always hated Julian’s arrogance. When I called him at midnight to tell him what happened, he didn't apologize for his brother. He asked for my WiFi password and brought his laptop.
“He’s a fool, Elise,” Arthur said, adjusting his reading glasses as he scrolled through lines of encrypted banking data. “A reckless, narcissistic fool.”
“How bad is it, Arthur?” I asked, staring at the empty space on the patio where the hot tub used to be.
Arthur sighed, turning the laptop screen toward me.
“It’s not just Aspen,” Arthur said grimly. “Julian has been siphoning funds from your joint high-yield savings for six months. He disguised them as 'contractor fees' for his architectural firm. But the LLC he was paying doesn't exist. It’s a shell account. And the debit card attached to that account has been very active.”
I looked at the itemized list.
Tiffany & Co. - $4,200. La Perla Lingerie - $850. The Ritz-Carlton, Maui - $12,500.
“Maui?” I breathed. “He told me he was at a structural engineering conference in Chicago last month.”
“He was in Hawaii,” Arthur corrected. “With Chloe. And it gets worse. Look at the transaction from last Tuesday.”
My eyes tracked down the screen.
Oak Creek Floral & Events - $8,000.
My heart stopped. “That’s... that’s the vendor doing Chloe and Mark’s wedding.”
“Julian paid for her floral arrangements, Elise,” Arthur said quietly. “He funded his mistress's wedding with your marital assets.”
A dark, terrifying laugh bubbled up in my throat. It wasn't funny. It was the sound of a woman realizing that the man she had loved for seven years wasn't just a cheater; he was a financial predator.
“Arthur,” I said, placing my coffee mug down with a sharp clink. “I want it all back. Every single cent. I want his shares in the firm. I want his equity in this house. I want him ruined.”
May you like
Arthur closed the laptop. A cold, predatory smile touched his lips. Blood or no blood, Arthur respected ruthlessness.
“Then we don't just file for divorce, Elise. We file a civil suit for marital tort and fraud. We freeze his assets by noon today. When Julian goes to buy a coffee this afternoon, his card is going to decline.”
