Chapter 2 - The Audit
The sun rose over the Pacific, casting a cold, gray light across the master bedroom that now felt twice as large. For two days, I didn't leave the house. I let Thomas think I was weeping into my pillows, broken and bewildered by the sudden abandonment.
Men like Thomas love a tragedy where they are the misunderstood hero. He wanted me weak. He needed me helpless so his betrayal would feel justified.
On the third morning, Diane arrived. She didn't knock; she had the security code I had given her a decade ago when Thomas was too busy buying real estate to remember his own gate passwords.
Diane Vance was fifty-two, sharp-eyed, wearing a charcoal pantsuit that cost more than Thomas’s first car. She carried a leather briefcase that held the executioner’s axe.
“He filed the separation papers through Harrison & Miller,” Diane said, dropping a thick manila envelope onto my mahogany dressing table. “They’re trying for a clean sweep. Total asset freeze under the pretense that you are incapacitated and your medical expenses are a drain on the corporate estate.”
I poured her a cup of black coffee from the silver pot. My hand didn't shake. “And the corporate accounts?”
“Untouched—so far,” Diane said, taking a sip. “He thinks he’s clever. He transferred forty million out of the primary holding account into a secondary venture capital fund yesterday afternoon. He’s trying to hide liquidity before the court can attach a preservation order.”
“Is the venture fund registered in his name?”
“No,” Diane smiled, a thin, dangerous line. “It’s registered under a shell corporation called Vanguard Holdings. Which, if you look at the incorporation documents filed three weeks ago, lists a sole director: Brooke Sanders.”
I looked out the window toward the manicured lawns. “He’s dumber than I thought. He’s using his mistress as a corporate shield to launder marital assets.”
“It’s worse than that,” Diane said, tapping her tablet. “Under state law, moving marital property to a third party without spousal consent during a pending separation is not just a civil violation. It’s grand larceny.”
“Then let’s not disappoint him,” I whispered. “When do we serve the subpoenas?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Diane said. “Right during his executive board meeting. We’re freezing Grant Holdings, the personal accounts, the vacation homes, and his precious venture capital shell. By noon, Thomas won’t even be able to buy a cup of coffee without our permission.”
I traced the rim of my porcelain teacup. “Make sure the freeze hits his personal credit cards while he’s at lunch with Brooke. I want him to experience the humiliation in public.”
May you like
Diane closed her briefcase and looked at me with genuine respect. “You know, Eleanor, most women your age would be crying over a photo album.”
“Photo albums are for funerals, Diane,” I replied, standing up straight. “This is a hostile takeover.”
