Chapter 2 - The Audit of Teresa’s EmpireBy Sunday afternoon, the initial shock had worn off, replaced by a cold, calculating fury. Frederick was recovering well in the hospital, his fever breaking after a round of intravenous antibiotics. Amy was finally sleeping peacefully in the recliner beside his bed, the dark circles under her eyes a permanent reminder of the hell she had endured while I was away at construction sites.
I sat in the hospital corridor, my laptop open, waiting for a secure Zoom call with forensic accountant Marcus Vance, an old college friend I had called the moment the police cleared the scene.
The screen flickered on, revealing Marcus in his office, surrounded by stacks of financial statements.
“Connor, man, I pulled the records you asked for. You might want to sit down for this,” Marcus said, adjusting his glasses.
“Just give it to me straight, Marcus. How deep does the rabbit hole go?” I asked, rubbing my temples.
“Deeper than a foundation trench,” Marcus replied grimly. He shared his screen, displaying a complex web of bank accounts, wire transfers, and credit card statements.
“For the past twenty-four months, you’ve been sending three thousand dollars a month—totaling seventy-two thousand dollars. Plus, you gave her a lump sum of twenty thousand last year to ‘pay off the mortgage,’ right?”
“Right. I thought she was managing the bills so Amy wouldn't have to stress while raising the baby.”
“Well, she didn't pay the mortgage. In fact, your mortgage was paid off automatically from your primary joint account with Amy. The money you sent Teresa? It wasn't going to bills. It was going into a high-yield savings account entirely in her name—and a second, offshore-linked digital wallet managed by none other than your cousin Mason.”
I felt my blood run cold. “Go on.”
“It gets worse,” Marcus continued, scrolling down. “Over the last six months, she took out three separate high-interest personal loans using your home equity as collateral, forging your signature on every single one. Total debt accumulated: over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And where did that money go? Luxury cars for Mason, high-end jewelry—including the pieces she was wearing at the party—and funding for a secret real estate venture in Florida under a shell corporation.”
A chill settled in my stomach. My mother hadn’t just been leeching off us. She had systematically built a financial fortress using my identity, intending to squeeze every drop of blood, sweat, and equity out of me and Amy, and then throw us out onto the street.
“Can we prove she did this without my consent?” I asked.
“Easily,” Marcus smiled grimly. “Not only do we have the IP addresses of the computers used to log into your bank portals—which trace directly to Mason’s laptop and your mother’s tablet—but we also have text messages where they discussed how to trick Amy into compliance.”
“Trick Amy?” My voice dropped an octave.
May you like
“Yeah. There are messages where your mother tells Mason, ‘The little maid is too broken down to fight back. Once we get the final deed transfer notarized on Friday, we’ll throw a massive party to celebrate owning the estate, and kick them out by Monday.’”
The screen seemed to blur as a surge of rage washed over me. They hadn't just planned to steal my house. They had planned to make us homeless on the very day we were celebrating our son's first birthday.
