Chapter 10 - Shadows in the Rearview
The ringing of the office telephone broke the rhythmic hum of the commercial mixers. It was late afternoon, the morning rush long since faded into the quiet lull between lunch and evening pickups. I wiped my hands on my apron, walked into the small back office, and picked up the receiver.
"Miller’s Artisan Hearth, Chloe speaking," I said, eyeing a stack of wholesale invoices waiting for my signature.
"Chloe? It’s Marcus." My attorney’s voice sounded unusually guarded, carrying a metallic edge that instantly put me on high alert. "I just got a confidential notification from the federal penitentiary system regarding Brandon."
My fingers tightened around the receiver. "Did he try to appeal?"
"No. His appeal was summarily rejected by the circuit court last week," Marcus replied, shuffling papers on his end. "That’s not why I’m calling. Brandon’s prison counselor flagged an incident report from yesterday afternoon. Apparently, Brandon received a visitor—not a family member, and not a legal representative."
"Who visited him?" I asked, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
"Arthur Vance—the disgraced notary who forged your signature," Marcus said grimly. "He’s currently out on a suspended sentence awaiting his own sentencing hearing. According to the prison guard logs, they spent twenty minutes in the secure visitation booth arguing loudly before guards separated them. The guard overheard Arthur telling Brandon that 'the Annapolis safe deposit box' was still unaccounted for."
I froze. A safe deposit box?
During our ten years of marriage, Brandon had always guarded a small, locked metal box that he kept hidden in the back of his corporate office closet. Whenever I asked what was inside, he always brushed it off as "family heirlooms and old stock certificates" belonging to his father. I had never pressed the issue, trusting him implicitly.
"Marcus," I whispered, my analytical mind racing backward through years of hidden paperwork, tax loopholes, and corporate trips. "When federal marshals swept Brandon’s corporate office and the Annapolis estate, did they inventory his secondary personal accounts or search his private storage units in Bethesda?"
"They seized his primary assets, bank accounts, and vehicles," Marcus said, a sharp realization dawning in his tone. "Voluntary storage units and private safe deposit boxes registered under third-party LLCs wouldn't automatically appear on standard joint marital asset searches unless specifically subpoenaed."
"He has something else hidden," I said, a dangerous spark igniting in my chest. "Something Arthur Vance helped him set up before the forgery scheme went live. If Arthur went to the prison to demand a cut, that means there’s still cash, documents, or digital assets out there that haven't been touched by the federal seizure."
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"If there’s an unregistered asset tied to marital property or fraudulent transfers, the court needs to know immediately," Marcus urged. "Give me twenty-four hours. I’ll draft an emergency subpoena for every commercial storage facility and private bank vault registered under Brandon’s name, his mother’s name, or any known shell company."
"Do it, Marcus," I said firmly. "Let's make sure nothing of his is left hiding in the dark."
