Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
Mark stopped in his tracks, his hands slowly falling back to his sides. "An audit?"
"A forensic audit," I corrected, opening my briefcase and pulling out three copies of Arthur Pendelton’s financial report. I laid them neatly on the glass coffee table between us. "It covers twenty-four months of corporate activity. Three hundred and forty-two thousand dollars transferred to Vance Consulting LLC."
Mark’s face drained of color so fast he looked as though he might faint onto the rug.
Theresa blinked, looking between the heavy financial folders and her son's ghostly face. "Mark... what is she talking about?"
"She’s talking about the three hundred and forty-two thousand dollars your son stole from my business," I said, looking straight into Theresa’s eyes. "The money that paid for your Mercedes lease. The money that paid for your country club dues. And the money that paid for Chloe Bennett’s apartment on Rainey Street."
Theresa gasped, stepping back until her lower back hit the marble mantlepiece of the fireplace.
"Elena... please," Mark whispered, dropping to his knees beside the coffee table, reaching out to grab my hand. "I can explain everything. The logistics firm was failing... I was under so much pressure... Chloe was just a mistake... a distraction—"
I pulled my hand back with quiet, absolute disgust, refusing to let his fingers touch my skin.
"Don't touch me, Mark," I said, my voice dead and steady. "You didn't just betray our marriage. You stole the money I earned standing on my feet sixteen hours a day while you were buying diamond necklaces for an intern."
"It was family money!" Theresa blurted out suddenly, her defensive, toxic instinct flaring up through her terror. "Mark is your husband, Elena! Whatever he took, he took as your partner! You can't accuse your own husband of stealing!"
I turned my head slowly to look at Theresa.
"Aura is an LLC registered solely in my name, Theresa," I said, my voice dropping an octave into a razor-sharp register. "Mark is not a partner. He is not an officer. He is an unauthorized third party who forged my signature forty-seven times on commercial banking documents."
May you like
I stood up from the armchair, smoothing down the lapel of my jacket.
"And as for you, Theresa," I continued, stepping closer to her. "You signed a personal promissory note at my restaurant two hours ago for fourteen thousand eight hundred and sixty-two dollars and forty cents. If that balance is not settled in full by 5:00 PM tomorrow, my legal team will file a commercial lien against your home in Westlake."
