Chapter 5: The Statement
Julian's attorney was a man named Garrett Finch.
I knew his name from case files.
He had represented three previous clients connected to financial fraud investigations in the state, and two of those cases had ended in acquittals built on procedural challenges and witness credibility attacks.
He was very good at making the wrong person look guilty.
Diana briefed me in the hospital room the following afternoon, Thomas asleep in the bassinet, a closed door between us and the hallway.
"Finch filed the statement at ten this morning," she said.
"Julian is claiming that you approached him eighteen months into your marriage with knowledge of the shell structure.
That you told him the fraud unit had begun a preliminary review of Sterling Ridge, and that you advised him on how to restructure the vendor accounts to reduce exposure."
"That's a complete fabrication."
"He has dates.
He has what he claims are notes from conversations."
"Written by whom?"
"Himself, apparently.
A personal journal." Diana's expression didn't change.
"Entries going back four years.
All describing conversations in which you allegedly guided the family's financial decisions."
I looked at the ceiling for a moment.
"He kept a fake journal."
"It's possible the journal is real and the entries are false.
It's also possible the journal itself was created recently and backdated.
Either way, it's a problem until we can discredit it."
"Can we?"
"Potentially.
If the entries reference events we can prove didn't happen the way he describes, or if the paper or ink analysis shows inconsistencies." She paused.
"But that takes time we don't have in the court of public opinion.
Finch is talking to financial press.
The story will be out by tomorrow morning."
I thought about that.
My name in a headline.
The fraud investigator who tipped off the family she married into.
The inside source who spent nine months pretending to build a case.
"What does the team think?" I asked.
"The team knows you.
That matters internally." She looked at me steadily.
"But internally isn't where this fight is happening."
"No," I agreed.
"It isn't."
My personal phone buzzed on the table.
I glanced at the screen.
Seraphina.
I hadn't expected that.
I let it ring twice, then picked up.
"Seraphina."
Her voice was different from any version I had heard before.
Not sharp.
Not performative.
Just tired, and younger-sounding than I remembered.
"I need to talk to you," she said.
"I'm listening."
"Not on the phone." A pause.
"I know what Julian is doing.
I know what Finch is saying about you.
I need you to know that I don't — " She stopped.
"I have something.
Something you need to see."
Diana was watching me.
"What do you have?" I asked.
"A folder.
Physical documents.
My mother kept records of everything, Audrey.
Everything.
Including the day she and Julian set up the Wren Hill Trust.
Including the signature page." Her voice dropped.
"It's not your signature.
I've seen your signature.
It's not yours.
And I have the original."
The room was very quiet.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
A long pause.
"Because Marcus knew," Seraphina said.
"My husband knew about the shell companies before our wedding.
He told me last night.
He thought it was just — he said it was just how the family managed taxes." Her voice cracked slightly.
"I married someone who knew my family was crjminals and didn't tell me.
And now my mother is trying to make sure you go down for it instead of them."
I looked at Diana.
She gave me a single nod.
"Where are the documents?" I asked.
"My hotel room.
I haven't gone back to the estate.
I can't." Another pause.
"Will you come?"
"I'll send someone I trust completely," I said.
"She'll be there within the hour."
I ended the call.
Diana was already reaching for her jacket.
"Go," I said.
She was at the door when she stopped.
"Audrey.
If those documents are what Seraphina says they are—"
"Then Julian and Eleanor built a frame around me on the same day they were committing the fraud I was investigating." I looked at Thomas.
"And they've been waiting three years for the moment they might need to use it."
Diana left without another word.
I sat in the quiet room and listened to my son breathe.
My phone buzzed again.
A number I didn't recognize.
I answered it anyway.
"Ms.
Sterling?" A man's voice.
Formal.
Careful.
"Yes."
"My name is Robert Ashby.
I'm a senior partner at Hargrove and Ashby.
I represent Marcus Hale." A pause.
"Mr.
Hale would like to cooperate fully with the state investigation.
He has information about Eleanor Sterling's role in the trust registration that he believes is material to your case."
I was quiet for a moment.
"Mr.
Ashby," I said, "have your client put everything in writing and deliver it to Special Agent Diana Cruz before five o'clock today."
"Of course.
Ms.
Sterling — for what it's worth — my client deeply regrets—"
May you like
"Five o'clock," I said.
And I ended the call.
