Chapter 3 - The Exposed Ledger
The cake stand slipped from my father’s hand, crashing onto the hardwood dance floor with a loud, metallic clatter that made several guests jump.
“She’s lying!” Mom shrieked, turning toward the stunned crowd, her hands waving frantically. “She’s brain-damaged from the fall! My daughter has mental issues! Call an ambulance!”
“I’m a certified forensic auditor, Mom,” I replied into the microphone, my steady tone contrasting sharply with her hysterical screaming. “And I sent the entire digital ledger, along with the forged bank loan documents carrying my signature, to the IRS Criminal Investigation Division and the FBI forty-five minutes before I walked into this party.”
The room descended into utter chaos.
Several of my father’s primary investors—men who had known our family for two decades—stood up from their tables, their faces twisted in rage.
“Arthur!” shouted Harrison Sterling, the lead partner on the Riverfront project. “Is this true? What is she talking about?”
My father opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He looked like a man who had suddenly stepped into an open elevator shaft.
“Check your corporate emails, Mr. Sterling,” I added, looking at Harrison. “I blind-copied the board of directors on the preliminary audit summary. You should have it in your inbox right about now.”
Harrison pulled out his phone. Within five seconds, his jaw dropped. He looked up at my father with pure disgust. “You son of a bitch, Arthur. You used project funds to pay off personal liens!”
Madison began to sob hysterically. “This was supposed to be my birthday! You ruined my twenty-eighth birthday, Chloe!”
I looked at my younger sister, feeling a profound, sudden pity for how hollow her life really was. She cared more about a ruined party and an unsourced luxury car than the fact that her sister was bleeding from a head wound inflicted by our father.
“Happy birthday, Madison,” I said quietly.
Sirens echoed in the distance, their high-pitched wails growing louder as emergency vehicles pulled into the hotel’s valet driveway.
My father took a step toward me, his hands curling into fists, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. “You destroyed us, Chloe. You destroyed your own blood over a car?”
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“No, Dad,” I said, dropping the microphone onto the table. “You destroyed yourself the moment you decided everyone around you was just an asset for you to abuse.”
I turned my back on them, my blood dripping onto the carpet with every step, and walked out the grand double doors of the ballroom just as armed police officers and paramedics rushed inside.
