Chapter 3 - The Audit of Treason
By midnight, the grand mansion was completely silent. The caterers had been paid off and dismissed, the front gates had been locked down by a brand-new private security team Ryan had personally summoned from a high-end firm in downtown Los Angeles, and the front doors were guarded by two tactical officers who answered only to Ryan.
In the central library, Ryan sat behind a massive glass desk, surrounded by stacks of financial ledgers, bank statements, and legal documents that his personal chief financial officer, Marcus, had spent the last three hours printing out and organizing. Marcus, a sharp, middle-aged man in a sleek dark suit, stood beside Ryan with a tablet in hand, his face grim.
Standing across from the desk, looking like nervous school children caught cheating on an exam, were Linda, Rachel, and Ethan.
Emily sat in a comfortable velvet armchair in the corner of the room, wrapped in a plush cashmere robe Ryan had retrieved from their bedroom. She sipped a hot cup of tea, watching the proceedings with quiet, solemn eyes.
"Read it to them, Marcus," Ryan ordered, not even looking up from the laptop screen where he was monitoring real-time bank account freezes.
Marcus cleared his throat and tapped his tablet screen. "Over the past forty-eight months, while Mr. Ryan Vance was overseeing international operations, a total of twelve point four million dollars was wired from the corporate emergency umbrella fund into the estate management account held jointly by Mrs. Linda Vance and Mrs. Rachel Vance-Miller."
Marcus paused, looking up at the trio. "According to the receipts and wire traces: four point two million dollars was diverted to fund Ethan Vance’s failed cryptocurrency trading platform, which went bankrupt six months ago. Two point eight million was spent on personal luxury retail—including four vehicles registered exclusively under Rachel Miller’s name. One point five million went to luxury vacations in Monaco and Bali. And over three million dollars remains unaccounted for, routed through off-shore accounts in the Cayman Islands."
Linda clasped her hands together, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. "Ryan, son... you have so much! Billions! What is twelve million to you? We are your family! Your own blood! Everything Ethan and Rachel did was to try and build something for themselves so they wouldn't be living in your shadow!"
"By stealing from me?" Ryan asked, leaning back in his leather chair, his hands clasped under his chin. "By treating my wife like a slave in her own home?"
"Emily isn't one of us!" Rachel blurted out, her composure completely breaking down into bitter jealousy. "Look at her, Ryan! She comes from a middle-class family of elementary school teachers! She doesn't belong in Beverly Hills! She doesn't know how to carry the Vance name! We kept her out of sight because she was embarrassing! Every time we had high-society guests over, she wanted to talk about garden vegetables and local charities! She was ruining your reputation!"
Emily flinched slightly, but Ryan raised his hand, cutting Rachel off instantly.
"My reputation?" Ryan laughed, a cold, mocking sound that chilled the air in the room. "I built this empire from nothing. When I was twenty-two years old and working twenty hours a day in a greasy diner kitchen trying to fund my first restaurant, where were you, Rachel? You were out partying on my student loans. Where were you, Mom? You told me I was wasting my life and that I would end up in prison. Do you know who was standing next to me in that ninety-degree kitchen, wiping sweat off my forehead and sharing a single five-dollar box of noodles with me?"
Ryan pointed his finger directly at Emily.
"She was," Ryan said, his voice thick with emotion. "Emily gave me her entire life savings—fifteen thousand dollars that her grandmother left her—so I could pay the first month's rent on my first restaurant location. Without Emily, there is no Vance Empire. Without Emily, you don't have those diamond rings, those luxury cars, or this roof over your heads. She owns this empire just as much as I do."
Linda stepped forward, sinking to her knees beside the glass desk, reaching out to touch Ryan’s arm. "Ryan, please... we are sorry. We made a mistake. The money got to our heads. Please, don't do this to your own mother. What are you going to do?"
Ryan slowly pulled his arm away from his mother's reach. He opened a thick leather folder on his desk, revealing three sets of legal documents drafted by his corporate attorneys over the last hour.
"Here is what is going to happen," Ryan said, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth. "First, every credit card, every trust fund allowance, and every bank account attached to my corporate entity is officially canceled as of five minutes ago."
Ethan gasped. "Ryan, no! I have a payment due on my Porsche tomorrow!"
"Sell it," Ryan snapped. "Second, the titles to the cars, the luxury apartment in West Hollywood I bought for Rachel, and the beach house in Malibu I bought for Mom are being transferred back to my corporate holding company tonight. You have until eight o'clock tomorrow morning to pack your personal clothing and vacate this estate."
"Vacate?!" Linda shrieked, standing up abruptly. "You’re kicking your own mother out onto the street?!"
"You are not going to the street, Mom," Ryan replied coldly. "I have purchased a modest two-bedroom apartment in suburban Ohio—near the neighborhood where we grew up. You will live there. I will pay your basic utility bills and provide a monthly allowance of two thousand dollars for groceries and basic living expenses. Not a single cent more."
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"And us?!" Rachel yelled, her hands shaking violently. "What about me and Ethan?!"
"You two are adults," Ryan said, looking at them with utter disdain. "You have degrees that I paid for. You can get real jobs. If you attempt to contest this legally, Marcus will hand the full forensic audit of your embezzlement over to the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office. Twelve million dollars in corporate fraud carries a minimum sentence of fifteen years in state prison. Choose your next words very carefully."
