Chapter 15 - The Audit of the Forged Ledgers
The police cruiser pulled away into the night, carrying Richard away into the machinery of the criminal justice system.
Inside Arthur’s private conference room on the top floor of his firm, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and bitter espresso.
Arthur sat surrounded by stacks of financial records dating back twenty-five years.
Beside him sat Evelyn Ross, the city's foremost forensic accountant, whose magnifying lamp illuminated a leather-bound journal.
"Richard was telling the truth about one thing," Evelyn said, looking up over her half-moon spectacles.
"Eleanor has submitted three volumes of handwritten journals to the surrogate court."
"They purport to be Walter’s personal daily diaries from nineteen ninety-eight through twenty fifteen."
"And what do they say?" I asked, standing behind Arthur’s high-backed leather chair.
"They depict Walter as an increasingly paranoid, confused old man who was terrified of his domestic staff and entirely dependent on Eleanor for financial guidance," Evelyn explained.
"In the entries from five years ago, the writer claims to have signed blank documents under extreme duress from an aggressive younger woman."
"Meaning you, Paige."
"It’s an amateur forgery," Arthur scoffed, tapping the desk with a heavy gold pen.
"Walter never used blue ballpoint ink; he exclusively wrote with water-based black archival ink."
"Walter's handwriting had a distinctive leftward slant following his minor stroke in two thousand ten."
"These journals do not show that slant."
"It's amateurish to a forensic expert, Arthur," Evelyn countered sharply.
"But to an emergency judge deciding whether to freeze an estate pending a three-year trial, it creates sufficient doubt."
"And Victoria Sterling’s lawyers have already used those journals to file an ex-parte injunction to seal the trust accounts."
"Meaning what, exactly?" I demanded.
"Meaning as of five o'clock tomorrow afternoon, the operational funds for the penthouse, the building taxes, and Gemma's trust accounts could be frozen by court order," Arthur said grimly.
"We would have to pay building maintenance, private security, and legal retainers out of whatever liquid personal cash you possess."
I walked over to the wide window looking out over the city Walter had helped build with his own hands.
They thought they were starving me out again.
They thought that by turning off the money, they could force me back into the snow, begging for their scraps.
They had forgotten who spent five years running Walter Vance’s personal life while they were off vacationing in Monaco.
"Evelyn," I said, turning slowly back toward the room.
"Where did Walter keep his original personal tax returns from nineteen ninety-four?"
"In the subterranean archive beneath the old warehouse on Fourth Street," Evelyn answered.
"The property that was scheduled to be demolished next month."
"Eleanor thinks she burned all the records when Walter was in the hospice," I said, a slow, cold smile spreading across my lips.
"She burned the copies Walter left in his study to satisfy her greed."
"She didn't know Walter had a private vault built five feet beneath the foundation of that warehouse."
"A vault that requires two physical keys and a retinal scan."
"My retinal scan."
Arthur’s eyes flared with renewed life.
"The Sterling liquidation agreement," Arthur whispered, standing up so fast his chair rolled back.
"Julian Sterling didn't disappear, did he?"
"No," I replied, pulling a heavy brass key from around my neck.
"Walter bought Julian Sterling out in cash for three million dollars in nineteen ninety-four to cover Julian’s gambling debts."
"And Julian signed a full, irrevocable release of all future claims against the Vance estate."
"A release Eleanor’s husband witnessed."
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"We don't just have the deed to the building, Arthur."
"We have the proof that Eleanor’s husband committed commercial extortion thirty years ago."
