Chapter 6 - The Counter-Attack
Word of Matthew's embezzlement spread through the nonprofit sector faster than wildfire. By Friday evening, local news outlets had picked up the story, linking the viral birthday slap video directly to Safe Haven Family Alliance's internal financial audit.
Diane Reeves found herself besieged. Reporters camped outside her suburban home, microphones thrust toward her front door whenever she dared to peer through the blinds. Her social club suspended her membership indefinitely, citing "conduct unbecoming of a member," and her long-time bridge club friends suddenly stopped returning her calls.
Tessa and I sat in my newly rented temporary apartment—a modest, sunlit two-bedroom condo on the edge of downtown Raleigh—unpacking cardboard boxes while soft jazz played from the stereo.
"So," Tessa said, holding up a glass of white wine as she leaned against the kitchen island. "Bank accounts frozen, charity embezzler husband exposed, mother-in-law hiding from the paparazzi like a disgraced politician. How are you feeling, Liv?"
I smiled, taking a sip of wine. For the first time in years, my chest felt light, unburdened by the crushing weight of walking on eggshells.
"I feel like I can finally breathe," I said, setting my glass down. "But we're not done yet. Diane still thinks she's untouchable because her house is fully paid off in her name. We need to look into how she acquired that property in the first place."
My phone buzzed on the counter. It was an email notification from my attorney, Marcus Sterling—a sharp, pitbull of a family law specialist recommended by Arthur Vance.
The subject line read: *Urgent: Response from Diane Reeves's Legal Counsel.*
I tapped it open and scanned the text. Diane hadn't hired a polite attorney; she had retained a local litigator known for aggressive intimidation tactics. Her lawyer was demanding that I immediately lift the bank freezes, issue a public apology retracting my "defamatory" financial claims, and cover her legal fees, or face a countersuit for harassment.
"Listen to this," I read aloud to Tessa, shaking my head in disbelief. "She's still trying to bully me. She thinks if she yells loud enough, everyone will back down."
"She's never faced a real consequence in her entire life," Tessa said indignantly. "Everything has always been handed to her on a silver platter, courtesy of her late husband and her codependent son."
"Well, her silver platter is about to be repossessed," I said, opening my laptop. "Marcus sent over the preliminary property deeds for her primary residence and her rental condo. Watch this."
I pulled up public county tax records, cross-referencing parcel numbers with past estate filings from Diane's late husband's probate case twenty years ago. As a financial analyst, numbers didn't lie, and neither did public property liens.
"Tess... look at this," I whispered, pointing at the screen. "Diane's rental condo isn't fully paid off. She took out a massive equity loan against it six months ago—for exactly thirty-eight thousand dollars."
Tessa gasped. "The exact amount they stole from your savings."
May you like
"Exactly," I said, a triumphant grin spreading across my face. "She didn't use our money for 'emergency house repairs.' She used it to pay off her own secret mortgage default to avoid foreclosure. She and Matthew were robbing Peter to pay Paul, and they used me as their personal ATM."
***
