Chapter 3 - THE AUDIT OF ABSOLUTE RUIN“What is the meaning of this?!” Diane shrieked, standing up so fast her chair screeched backward. “Get off my property! Tyler, call the police! These men are trespassing!”
Victor Vance didn't even look at her. He walked straight toward our patio table, his hard, unyielding gaze locked entirely on Tyler. Behind him, the other men fanned out, sealing every exit point of the courtyard with military efficiency.
“Property?” Victor said smoothly, his deep voice cutting through the morning air like a scalpel. “I’m afraid Mrs. Diane, your definition of property ownership is about to undergo a violent realignment.”
Tyler stepped forward, puffing out his chest, trying to reclaim his alpha status. “Who the hell are you? I’m the majority shareholder of Vance-Sterling Holdings! I demand you leave right now or I’ll have you arrested for criminal trespass!”
Victor stopped dead in front of Tyler, tilted his shades down slightly, and let out a cold laugh.
“Tyler Vance. Age twenty-eight. Former college dropout, current professional parasite, and amateur forger,” Victor recited effortlessly, pulling a crisp manila folder from his briefcase. “Let’s talk about your corporate masterpiece, shall we?”
Tyler’s face lost its color. The cocky grin vanished, replaced by a twitching jaw. “I… I don't know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don't,” Victor sneered. He opened the folder and dropped a thick stack of forensic accounting reports right onto the table, scattering them over Diane’s precious paperwork. “Let’s look at the digital metadata of the signature transfers executed three months ago. Your IP address, Tyler. Your personal laptop. You logged into Jake’s secure banking portal using a remote-desktop proxy routed through a server in the Cayman Islands. A clever trick—if you’re dealing with local rent-a-cops.”
Victor stepped closer, his voice sharpening. “Unfortunately for you, Captain Jake Vance didn’t leave his primary encryption keys on a home desktop. Every transaction you initiated triggered an immediate, automated felony flag across federal banking watchdogs. But Jake chose to let it ride. He wanted to watch you build a mountain of evidence tall enough to bury you alive.”
“That’s… that’s a lie!” Tyler stammered, looking frantically toward our mother. “Mom, tell them! They’re lying!”
Diane was shaking, her manicured fingers clawing at her expensive necklace. “Listen to me, you arrogant little—we have legal documents! Real estate deeds stamped by the county clerk!”
“Ah, the county clerk,” Victor smiled, snapping his fingers.
Two men in dark suits stepped forward, holding a second set of documents.
“Let’s talk about county clerk bribery,” Victor continued calmly. “Specifically, Clerk Arthur Pendelton. We have recorded phone calls, bank wire receipts from Tyler’s secret personal account directly to Pendelton’s offshore Bahamian shell corporation, and video surveillance footage of the document swap that took place in a parking garage last month. Forgery, wire fraud, conspiracy, extortion, and interstate embezzlement.”
Victor leaned in close to Tyler’s ear, whispering words that carried across the entire silent courtyard.
“Federal minimum security prison isn’t very comfortable, Tyler. But maximum security federal penitentiary? That’s where white-collar criminals who steal from decorated combat veterans go to find out what real suffering looks like.”
Tyler stumbled backward, his legs hitting the edge of the pool lounger, and he fell backward into the water with a pathetic splash.
Emily stood by the doorway, her hands trembling as tears of pure vindication finally spilled down her cheeks.
May you like
I stood up slowly, walked over to the edge of the pool, looked down at my drowning brother, and gently slid my limited-edition watch off his wet wrist.
“Nice try, little brother,” I said softly. “Now watch how a real professional plays the game.”
