Chapter 6 - THE AUDITOR AND THE PAPER TRAIL
At 7:30 AM, the house was still quiet.
Margaret was sleeping in her ground-floor suite, and the only sound in the kitchen was the rhythmic drip of the coffee machine. I sat at the marble island in my flannel shirt, cradling a mug of black coffee, watching the front driveway through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
At 7:55 AM, three vehicles pulled up the long brick driveway.
First was a heavy black SUV with tinted windows. Behind it were two sleek silver sedans carrying corporate logos: Vance & Partners Litigation Group.
Frank Vance stepped out of the lead sedan. He was a tall, silver-haired veteran in his late fifties, wearing an immaculate charcoal suit. Beside him were three younger men and women carrying heavy leather briefcases and ruggedized laptops—forensic auditors. From the black SUV, two imposing men in understated dark suits stepped out, standing quietly by the doors with hands folded.
I opened the front door before Frank even reached the steps.
"You look like hell, David," Frank said, stepping inside and taking in the marble foyer with a sharp, practiced gaze. "Nice place. Shame about the blood under the rug."
"Thanks for coming on short notice, Frank," I said, shaking his hand firmly.
"Short notice? Son, when my best tactical sergeant calls saying he’s trapped in a domestic hostage situation involving a hundred grand in military back-pay, I clear my calendar," Frank replied, signaling his team inside. "Meet Sarah and Alan. They're my top financial forensics experts. Give them two hours with a laptop and a power outlet, and they’ll find where every nickel went."
"The master bedroom is locked upstairs," I told them, leading them toward the dining room. "My mother claims she made smart investments. She used a corrupt doctor named Harrison to sign medical papers isolating my wife, Gwen."
Frank’s eyes turned cold. "Doctor Richard Harrison? The guy who lost his hospital privilege in '24 for signing false disability claims for insurance money?"
"That's him."
"Good," Frank grimaced, pulling a tablet from his coat. "That makes this criminal fraud, not just a civil dispute. Sarah, pull Harrison’s state medical license and cross-reference his name with Margaret Vance’s personal accounts over the last thirty-six months."
"On it, sir," Sarah said, setting up her equipment on the mahogany dining table.
Suddenly, a bedroom door clicked open down the hall.
Margaret stepped into the corridor wearing a silk floral robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her smile instantly vanished when she saw six strangers sitting at her dining room table with laptops plugged into her outlets.
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"What is the meaning of this?!" Margaret demanded, her voice screeching across the high ceilings. "David! Who are these people?! Why are they in my home?!"
I took a slow sip of my coffee and leaned against the doorframe. "Good morning, Mom. Meet my legal team."
