Chapter 3 - The Morning Audit
At six o'clock the following morning, the sun rose over Lake Michigan, casting a cold, pale light across the manicured lawns of my Lake Forest estate.
I sat in my dining room, wearing a tailored charcoal suit, sipping dark coffee. On the mahogany table lay three thick manila folders containing bank statements, shell company incorporation papers, and employment records I had pulled overnight with the help of my private forensic accountant, Marcus Cole.
The front door clicked open.
Julian Vance stepped into the foyer.
He was forty-two, tall, impeccably dressed in a custom navy suit, carrying a leather briefcase. He looked relaxed, radiant, holding a box of fresh pastries from a high-end bakery in Gold Coast.
"Good morning, Vance," I called out from the dining room, my voice calm, pleasant, and completely normal.
Julian paused, surprised to see me up so early. He adjusted his silk tie and walked into the dining room with a wide, effortless smile.
"Thane!" Julian exclaimed cheerfully, setting the bakery box on the sideboard. "You're awake early. How did the donor dinner go last night? Senator Hayes was singing your praises when I spoke to him this morning."
"The dinner was fine," I said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from me. "Sit down, Julian. Have a coffee."
Julian hesitated for a fraction of a second—an instinct born of long years working around powerful men—before pulling out the leather chair and sitting down. "Everything alright? You look like you didn't sleep."
"I didn't," I replied, taking a slow sip of coffee. "I spent the night looking over the domestic staffing budget."
Julian’s posture stiffened slightly, almost imperceptibly, but his smile remained perfectly fixed. "The domestic budget? Thane, you don't need to concern yourself with those trivialities. I handle the household logistics so you can focus on the port expansion and the city council vote."
"I know you do," I said softly, sliding the first manila folder across the polished table. "Which is why I was confused when I ran an audit on Blackwell Domestic Services at two in the morning."
Julian looked down at the folder. He didn't open it immediately. "An audit? Is there a discrepancy?"
"June Carter," I said.
The name hung in the quiet air of the dining room like a drop of poison in a glass of milk.
Julian’s eyelids flickered. "The housekeeper? Did she break something? I told you, Thane, these girls from the placement agencies are often clumsy. If she caused a problem, I’ll have Apex terminate her contract immediately and send a replacement by noon."
"She didn't break anything, Julian," I said, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the table, locking my gaze onto his. "She was sitting on my pantry floor at two in the morning, eating cold leftover rice because she hadn't had a full meal in forty-eight hours."
Julian chuckled softly, a nervous, dismissive sound. "Thane, please. You know how these people are. They exaggerate. They play the victim to get handouts—"
"I saw her paycheck, Julian," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a register that made the coffee cup in his hand visibly tremble. "She receives two thousand two hundred dollars a month out of the six thousand four hundred I authorize from my primary account. Where is the rest of the four thousand two hundred going?"
Julian’s face slowly drained of color. The charm was melting away, exposing the raw, ugly terror beneath.
"Thane... there are administrative overheads," Julian stammered, pulling at his collar. "Insurance, agency fees, compliance costs—"
"The four thousand two hundred dollars goes directly into an account at First Cayman Bank," I said, opening the second folder and laying out a bank transfer flow chart prepared by Marcus. "An account registered to Apex Staffing Solutions LLC. Whose sole beneficiary is a trust held by Julian Vance."
Julian stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back two inches. "This is an outrageous accusation! I have served this family for seven years! I managed your estate when Clara died! I saved you from bankrupting yourself with grief!"
"Do not speak my wife's name," I said, my voice rising just enough to shake the crystal chandelier above us.
I stood up slowly, towering over him.
"You didn't just steal from me, Julian," I said, stepping around the table until I was six inches from his face. "You starved a mother of two while she scrubbed my floors. You used my name to terrorize defenseless women into thinking I would ruin them if they spoke."
Julian swallowed hard, taking a step backward until his back hit the sideboard. "Thane... please. It was an operational strategy... the money was being reinvested into the logistics expansion—"
"Marcus Cole is currently sitting at the headquarters of Blackwell Domestic Services with six federal auditors and ten armed security guards," I revealed coldly. "Every computer server, every ledger, and every safe is being seized as we speak."
Julian’s eyes went wide with sheer terror. "Federal auditors?! Thane, if you bring the feds into this, they won't just look at the staffing accounts! They’ll look at the shipping routes! They’ll look at the municipal docks!"
"Let them look," I whispered into his ear. "My hands are clean on the shipping routes, Julian. But yours? Yours are covered in bleach, sweat, and stolen wages."
I pulled out my phone and tapped a single key.
Two tall, burly men in black suits stepped through the dining room doors—my personal security detail, led by my head of security, Vance Vance (no relation to Julian).
"Take Mr. Vance to the holding room in the basement," I commanded softly. "Confiscate his phone, his keys, and his wallet. He stays there until the federal marshals arrive at noon."
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"Thane! You can't do this to me!" Julian screamed as my security team pinned his arms behind his back, hauling him away. "I’m family! Clara was my cousin! You owe her memory!"
"Clara would have dragged you to the gallows herself," I said flatly, watching him struggle as he was dragged down the corridor into the dark.
