Chapter 3 - The Audit
The shock in the room shifted instantly from stunned disbelief to absolute, unadulterated panic.
Cousin Mason jumped out of his chair so fast his seat cushion crashed backward onto the floor. “Wait a minute! Federal audit? What does Richard’s corporate office have to do with us? We didn't do anything!”
“Quiet, Mason!” Aunt Brenda hissed, her face contorting with rage as she glared across the table at Richard. “Richard! Tell us this is a lie! Tell us our trust funds, our college accounts, the loans you managed for us—tell us they aren’t tied up in your corporate shell companies!”
Richard didn't answer. He stood frozen near the head of the table, his mouth opening and closing like a fish stranded on a dry dock. The impenetrable armor of corporate success and untouchable authority that he had worn for thirty years had completely shattered, leaving behind a frantic, cornered man realizing he had finally stepped off the edge of a cliff of his own making.
“Every single dollar of Montgomery Holdings,” Mr. Ellis continued calmly, his monotone voice cutting through the rising tide of hysteria, “was collateralized against the underlying real estate deed of the primary Montgomery estate—which, according to the trust deed executed twenty years ago and re-ratified last month, was solely owned in fee simple by Clara Elizabeth Montgomery, and assigned exclusively to her granddaughter, Anna.”
Blake’s face turned bright crimson. He spun around to face his father, his voice cracking with teenage entitlement and sheer betrayal. “Dad? What is he talking about? You said the lakehouse and the commercial properties were ours! You said I was going to inherit the entire portfolio by the time I turned twenty-five!”
“Shut up, Blake,” Richard snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, desperate snarl as he whipped his head around. But the damage was already done. The illusion of family unity that Richard had ruthlessly maintained through financial bribery had instantly evaporated the second the money pipeline was threatened.
Cousins were shouting over one another, demanding answers, accusing Richard of hiding their inheritance, while Aunt Brenda frantically dialed her husband on her smartphone, her hands shaking so violently she dropped the device onto the carpet.
Mr. Ellis calmly reached into the black folder and pulled out a second, thicker stack of documents, sliding them across the table toward me.
“Here are the emergency asset-freezing injunctions issued by the Baltimore Superior Court,” Mr. Ellis said, offering a microscopic, knowing smile. “Effective immediately, all corporate accounts, personal checking accounts, luxury assets, and real estate holdings under Richard Montgomery’s control are placed under judicial receivership pending the fraud investigation.”
I picked up the injunction papers, neatly tapping them against the mahogany table to align the edges before sliding them back into my purse.
Richard’s knees seemed to buckle slightly. He gripped the edge of the mahogany table with both hands, his knuckles turning white as chalk. He stared at me—really looked at me—for the first time in twenty-two years. He didn't see the eighteen-year-old girl he had thrown out into the rain with a trash bag of clothes anymore. He saw the forensic auditor who had systematically, methodically dismantled his entire life’s work with the stroke of a pen and a stack of court-certified paperwork.
“Anna,” Richard croaked, his voice cracking horribly as he tried to force a pathetic, trembling tone of paternal warmth. “Anna... please. Let’s... let’s not be hasty. We’re family. Blood is thicker than water. We can sit down, just the two of us, and work out a... a reasonable settlement. You and I, we’re Montgomerys. We should stick together against these outsiders.”
I stopped mid-motion, looking up from my purse. I let out a quiet, cold laugh that held zero humor.
“Blood is thicker than water?” I repeated, tilting my head. “Isn't that fascinating, Richard? Because twenty-two years ago, when you changed the locks on my door and told the entire family I was dead to you, you seemed to think blood was remarkably easy to wash down the drain.”
“I was... I was young! I made mistakes! I was under stress!” he stammered, desperation bleeding openly from every word.
“No, Richard,” I said, stepping away from the table and buttoning my charcoal blazer. “You weren't stressed. You were arrogant. You assumed that because you held the checkbook, you held all the power. You forgot what Grandma taught me on day one.”
I paused at the heavy oak doorway of the office, turning back to look at the room of grasping, panic-stricken relatives.
May you like
“Powerful people absolute hate paperwork when it belongs to someone else.”
Before Richard could scramble around the table to stop me, I turned the brass door handle, stepped out into the quiet marble hallway, and let the heavy door click shut behind me.
