Chapter 2 - The Audit
Brandon took a slow sip of his scotch, entirely unbothered by the tense atmosphere in the room. He walked over to the leather sofa, threw himself onto the cushions, and stretched his legs across the mahogany coffee table.
"Seriously, Dad," Brandon said, swirling the ice in his glass. "Who let those people drag their brat into the main house? Tell Harrison to handle it and fire whoever broke the dress code."
I stared at my son. He was my only child, raised in luxury after his mother passed away when he was ten. I had given him everything—expensive schools, sports cars, unlimited credit cards—hoping to compensate for the loss of his mother. Sitting here now, looking at his dismissive expression, I felt a wave of profound failure wash over me.
"That 'brat' is nine years old, Brandon," I said, my voice dangerously low. "And her mother hasn't been paid in three months."
Brandon scoffed, rolling his eyes. "So? People miss payments all the time. Tell her to take it up with accounting tomorrow. Why are you making a federal case out of a domestic staff glitch?"
"Because it wasn't a glitch," I replied. "The money left my account. Fifty thousand dollars every month. But Rosa hasn't received a single dollar since May."
Harrison stepped forward, smoothly attempting to redirect the conversation. "Mr. Vance, please. There is no need to disturb your son with administrative details. I will handle this matter personally tonight. I'll issue a temporary cash voucher from the estate petty cash box to satisfy Rosa's immediate needs, and we can conduct a full audit tomorrow morning."
"No," I said instantly. "We are conducting the audit tonight."
I picked up my desk phone, pressed the direct speed dial for my personal corporate accountant, Marcus Brody, and put the call on speaker.
"Julian?" Marcus answered on the second ring. "It's late. Is everything alright with the European closing?"
"Marcus, I need you to suspend all current tasks," I commanded. "Log into the Vance Estate Domestic Operating Account right now. I want a line-by-line transaction breakdown for the last six months."
Marcus hesitated over the line. "Julian... the estate domestic account is managed directly by Arthur Harrison under your secondary authorization protocol. I only review those quarterly."
"Then review it now," I barked. "Look at the outgoing wire destinations for the payroll entries."
I heard the rapid clicking of Marcus's mechanical keyboard over the speakerphone. Harrison remained standing near the bookshelf, his arms folded behind his back, his expression entirely neutral. Brandon pulled out his phone, casually scrolling through social media, completely detached from the situation.
For two long minutes, the only sound in the office was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Then, Marcus let out a sharp, audible gasp over the phone.
"Julian..." Marcus said, his professional tone suddenly replaced by deep anxiety. "Are you in a secure room?"
"I'm in my office with Harrison and Brandon," I said. "Speak freely."
"Julian, the payroll funds haven't been going to cashiers' checks or staff direct deposits," Marcus revealed, his voice shaking slightly. "The funds are being routed through a shell company registered in Nevada called 'Vance Property Logistics LLC'."
My brow furrowed. "I never created a company by that name."
"I know," Marcus replied. "Because the sole managing director of Vance Property Logistics isn't you."
"Who is it?" I asked, my blood turning to ice.
Marcus went silent for three excruciating seconds.
"It's registered under Brandon Vance. And the primary authorization signature belongs to Arthur Harrison."
The silence that followed was terrifying.
I slowly turned my head toward my son.
Brandon’s thumbs froze over his phone screen. His nonchalant posture instantly vanished. He sat up straight on the sofa, his face draining of all color until he looked as pale as the marble floor in the foyer.
"Brandon?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Dad... wait," Brandon stammered, dropping his phone onto the carpet. "It's... it's not what it looks like!"
"You created a shell company using my name to steal the salaries of my domestic staff?" I rose from my chair, my large frame towering over the desk, my hands planted flat on the dark wood. "You stole from a woman who cleans your bathroom?!"
"No! Dad, listen to me!" Brandon scrambled to his feet, stepping back as if I were about to strike him. "Harrison set it up! He said it was just a tax write-off! He said you knew about it!"
I whipped around to face Arthur Harrison.
The polished, professional estate manager didn't panic. Instead, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a small set of brass keys, and carefully laid them on the corner of my desk.
"Mr. Vance," Harrison said calmly, his tone devoid of any respect now. "If I were you, I would stop digging into that account immediately."
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"Are you threatening me in my own home, Harrison?" I snarled.
"I am offering you advice, sir," Harrison replied coldly. "Because if you pull that thread any further, you won't just find stolen paychecks. You will pull down the entire legacy of the Vance family. And I promise you... you are not prepared for what is on the other side of that door."
