Chapter 4 - THE AUDIT UNRAVELS
(1,500 words)
Three days after the disastrous wedding at the St. Regis, the story had completely dominated Chicago business news and national tabloids.
“WEDDING DAY ARREST: BILLIONAIRE HEIR’S BRIDE HANDCUFFED AT THE ALTAR FOR $1.7M EMBEZZLEMENT AND KIDNAPPING CONSPIRACY.”
Front-page photos showed Megan being led away in her ruined lace gown, her face twisted in a shriek, while Linda cowered behind police officers.
My auditing firm, Bennett Forensic Financials, was suddenly thrust into the national spotlight. Rather than hurting my reputation, the revelation that I had uncovered a massive, complex corporate fraud involving my own family while maintaining total professional objectivity made my firm the most sought-after auditing group in the Midwest.
On Thursday morning, I sat at my large glass desk in my high-rise office overlooking Lake Michigan. My left elbow was down to a faint yellowish bruise, and I was wearing a sharp charcoal blazer over a silk blouse.
My senior associate, Marcus, walked into my office carrying a fresh stack of bank statements and a tablet.
“Morning, boss,” Marcus said, setting the tablet on my desk. “The federal receivership team just sent over the finalized asset seizure reports for Linda and Megan Bennett.”
“What did they find?” I asked, pulling the tablet toward me.
“It’s worse than we thought,” Marcus said, sitting down across from me. “The $1.7 million from Collins Manufacturing was just the tip of the iceberg. Over the last four years, Linda had opened seven different personal lines of credit using your stolen social security number and forged signatures.”
I froze, my fingers hovering over the glass screen. “She used my identity?”
“She used your identity as a secondary guarantor,” Marcus clarified, his expression grim. “Whenever her shell accounts ran dry, she took out short-term high-interest loans under the name 'Claire Bennett' to cover the interest payments on Megan’s credit cards, luxury car leases, and high-end dresses.”
A cold, familiar anger stirred in my stomach.
It wasn't enough that Linda had kidnapped me, deprived me of my real family, and treated me like an unwanted stray for twenty-six years. She had actively tried to ruin my credit, my financial standing, and my legal record to ensure I could never escape her control.
“How much debt did she attach to my name?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet.
“Roughly $340,000 across three major lending institutions,” Marcus said. “However, because we have the forensic handwriting analysis proving the signatures were forged by Linda, and because she’s currently in federal custody, the US Attorney’s office is filing an immediate expedited motion to clear your credit file and wipe those debts completely.”
“Good,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Make sure our legal counsel handles every single filing. I want every trace of Linda Bennett wiped from my financial life by the end of the month.”
The inter-office intercom buzzed on my desk. My receptionist’s voice came through. “Claire, Mr. Andrew Collins is here to see you. He says he doesn't have an appointment, but he brought coffee.”
I glanced at Marcus, who smiled subtly and gathered his files. “I’ll leave you to it, boss.”
A moment later, Andrew walked into my office. He wasn't wearing his wedding tuxedo anymore; he was dressed in a tailored navy business suit, holding two cups of artisanal coffee from the cafe down the street. He looked tired, with light shadows under his eyes, but his posture was firm, relaxed, and clear.
“Hey,” Andrew said, setting one of the coffee cups on my desk. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” I smiled, taking the cup. “How are things at Collins Manufacturing?”
“Chaotic,” Andrew admitted, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Our board of directors spent the last seventy-two hours conducting an internal review. We’ve completely overhauled our procurement department. But honestly... the company is stronger now than it was a week ago. The board was so impressed with how your firm handled the audit that they want to retain Bennett Forensic Financials for an annual corporate compliance retainer.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A retainer? Andrew, given everything that happened with Megan—”
“You saved my family’s company, Claire,” Andrew interrupted firmly. “Megan was preparing to funnel another $2 million out of our international accounts over the next six months. If you hadn't caught it, our Q4 earnings report would have triggered an SEC investigation that could have ruined my father’s company. You did your job with absolute brilliance, even when it meant exposing your own sister.”
I looked at him, feeling a warm, quiet appreciation. “Thank you, Andrew.”
Andrew leaned back in his chair, watching me thoughtfully. “How are you holding up? With Arthur... and everything else?”
“Arthur calls me every morning at 8:00 AM,” I admitted with a faint laugh. “He sends flowers to my office every afternoon. Yesterday, he tried to gift me a three-story brownstone in Gold Coast.”
“Did you take it?”
“Of course not,” I smiled. “I told him if he wants to buy me something, he can buy me a slice of deep-dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s.”
Andrew chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with real warmth. “He’s trying to make up for lost time. He’s been alone for a very long time, Claire.”
“I know,” I said softly. “And I’m going to dinner with him tonight. Step by step.”
Before Andrew could reply, my desk phone buzzed again. It was my receptionist.
“Claire... I’m sorry to bother you again, but there’s a defense attorney on Line 2. He claims he’s representing Linda Bennett, and he says it’s an urgent medical request.”
I picked up the desk phone, pressing the speaker button so Andrew could hear. “This is Claire Bennett.”
“Miss Bennett,” a nervous, fast-talking male voice came through the speaker. “My name is Gerald Vance—no relation to Arthur Vance—I am the court-appointed public defender representing your adoptive mother, Linda Bennett.”
“What’s the urgency, Mr. Vance?” I asked coldly.
“Your mother suffered a mild panic attack in her holding cell this morning,” the attorney said. “She is refusing to sign the federal plea agreement drafted by the prosecutor unless she is granted a twenty-minute private meeting with you in the visitation room at the Metropolitan Correctional Center today.”
I let out a cold, humorless breath. “Tell her no.”
“Miss Bennett, please hear me out,” the lawyer pleaded. “If she signs the plea agreement, she agrees to forfeit all claims to the embezzled funds, turns over her co-conspirators, and saves the state a lengthy trial. But she insists she has one final piece of physical evidence that belonged to your biological mother—Victoria Vance—that was never handed over to Arthur.”
I froze, my hand tightening on the receiver.
Beside me, Andrew leaned forward, his brows furrowed.
May you like
“What physical evidence?” I demanded.
“She won't tell me,” the attorney said. “She only said it’s a locked velvet box containing Victoria Vance’s personal journals from 1999. She says if you come see her today, she will give you the key and the location of the box. If you don't come... she’ll destroy it.”
