Chapter 7 - THE AUDIT
By the second week of my recovery, my legal and financial team had begun a deep-dive forensic audit of every transaction Alejandro Vance had executed over the past five years using corporate accounts tied to Vance Commercial Real Estate.
We gathered in the grand library of my Lake Forest estate. Present were Marcus Thorne, Arthur Pendelton, and a sharp, ruthless forensic accountant named Sarah Lin.
Sarah laid out several thick binders on the long mahogany table.
“Camila,” Sarah began, adjusting her glasses, “Alejandro wasn't just spending your money on luxury cars and expensive dinners. He was actively committing corporate fraud and embezzlement.”
I tilted my head, interested. “Explain.”
“Over the last thirty-six months,” Sarah said, opening a binder filled with complex spreadsheets, “Alejandro created three shell companies registered in Delaware: Gomez Logistics LLC, Apex Capital Management, and Windy City Consulting. He issued fraudulent invoices from these shell companies to your trust’s commercial properties for fake 'maintenance fees', 'tenant procurement costs', and 'financial advisory services'.”
Arthur Pendelton leaned forward, his face dark. “He siphoned off nearly $3.8 million directly from the Vance Commercial Real Estate capital expenditure reserves into those shell accounts.”
“And where did that money go?” I asked.
“We tracked the wire transfers,” Sarah replied. “Approximately $1.5 million was funneled into offshore crypto accounts registered in his name. Another $1 million went toward buying a luxury beachfront condo in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico—registered under his personal name and Claudia Miller’s name as co-owners.”
A cold laugh escaped my lips.
Alejandro hadn't just been waiting for me to die on the operating table; he had been actively stealing from my family's legacy to build a secret nest egg in Mexico for his new family.
“Does he know we’ve discovered this?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Marcus Thorne said, a sharp, predatory smile spreading across his face. “He thinks he was just cut off from future income. He has no idea we’ve uncovered three years of felony grand larceny and wire fraud.”
“What are our options, Marcus?”
“Option A,” Marcus explained, “We immediately hand these forensic binders over to the United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois. Wire fraud and corporate embezzlement over $1 million carries a mandatory federal prison sentence of seven to fifteen years.”
“And Option B?” I asked.
“Option B,” Marcus continued, leaning back in his chair, “We file a civil emergency freezing order on all his domestic and international assets—including the Cabo condo and his crypto wallets—reclaim every single dollar he stole, and then hand the evidence over to the FBI, letting him face criminal prosecution while completely bankrupt and unable to afford a private defense attorney.”
I stood up from the table, walking over to the fireplace. The flames cast long, dancing shadows across the room.
May you like
“Go with Option B, Marcus,” I said, looking into the fire. “I want him to feel the exact terror I felt sitting in that hospital bed. I want him to watch everything he built on lies evaporate into thin air, until he has nothing left but a court-appointed public defender.”
“Consider it done, Camila,” Marcus said, closing the binder with a heavy, satisfying thud.
