Chapter 4 - THE SHADOW OF FINANCIAL RUINHer parting words chilled me to the bone. “Check your bank accounts! Check your company!”
Ignoring the stares of the hospital staff, I opened my banking app on my phone. My password didn't work. I tried again. Account Locked: Multiple Invalid Attempts.
Panic rising in my chest, I logged into my company portal. A red banner flashed across the top of the screen: SUSPENDED PENDING INVESTIGATION.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I immediately dialed my boss, David Vance (no relation to the detective), the Vice President of Regional Operations.
He picked up on the second ring. His voice was grim and devoid of its usual warmth.
“Ryan,” David said flatly. “I was hoping you’d call.”
“David, what’s going on?” I begged, pacing the hallway. “I’m at the hospital! My family—there was an emergency— my mother—”
“Save it, Ryan,” David interrupted sternly. “Two days ago, while you were allegedly in St. Louis handling the facility audit, someone logged into the regional logistics network using your credentials. They transferred $450,000 from our client escrow account into an offshore shell company registered in your name.”
I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. “What?! That’s impossible! I didn’t touch any accounts!”
“The IP address traces back to your home router in Kansas City, Ryan,” David continued. “Furthermore, an email was sent from your corporate address to the board of directors, admitting to the transfer and threatening to release trade secrets if we prosecuted you. The board has already filed federal fraud charges with the FBI.”
My mother hadn't just tried to break up my marriage and take my home—she had orchestrated a masterclass in total life destruction. She knew that if I was arrested for financial fraud, I would be disgraced, bankrupt, and completely dependent on her legal help—or locked away while she moved to take custody of Noah and control of my assets.
“David, listen to me!” I cried out, tears of frustration blinding me. “My mother had access to my home network! She drugged my wife! She’s currently in police custody for attempted murder!”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“Ryan... that sounds insane,” David said, his tone skeptical.
“Call Detective Marcus Vance at the KCPD!” I urged frantically. “He just arrested her ten minutes ago in the ICU! Please, David, don't do this to me! Look at the timestamps of the wire transfers!”
David hesitated. “I... I will contact Detective Vance. But until the FBI finishes their preliminary trace, your access remains revoked and your accounts are frozen. I’m sorry, Ryan.”
The line went dead.
I dropped onto a chair in the waiting room, burying my face in my hands. I had no money. My job was gone. The FBI was investigating me. My wife was in critical condition, and my newborn son was hooked up to machines.
Just then, a gentle hand touched my shoulder.
May you like
I looked up. It was Dr. Thorne.
“Mr. Mitchell,” Dr. Thorne said softly. “Your wife is awake again. She’s demanding to see you.”
