Chapter 2 - The Audit Begins
Richard stood up from the head of the table, his hands trembling slightly as he gestured toward his son. "Brandon, sit down! Paul, unlock the door!"
"Dad, stop!" Brandon snapped, stepping closer to me. "She’s bluffing! Look at her! She’s wearing a twelve-dollar coat from Goodwill! She doesn't have a judge's salary—she’s a broke nobody who lived off your credit card!"
"My coat cost twelve dollars because I believe in utility over vanity, Brandon," I said, remaining seated, looking up at him with cold detachment. "And as for my salary... I retired from the federal bench three years ago under 28 U.S. Code § 371. My judicial pension pays thirty-six thousand dollars per month, tax-adjusted, deposited on the first of every month into a private wealth management account at Bessemer Trust."
Beatrice stared at me, her mouth slightly open. "Thirty-six thousand... a month?"
"More than your husband makes in a quarter, Beatrice," I added calmly. "Especially now that his firm’s senior partners are reviewing his billable hours."
"How do you know about that?!" Andre gasped out, his hands shaking so violently he had to grip the edge of the table.
"Because I spent my quiet afternoons while Richard was 'at the office' doing what I’ve done for thirty years," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Reading financial disclosures, public property records, and SEC filings. Did you really think I spent three years sitting in this house doing crossword puzzles?"
I turned my head toward Richard.
The man looked as though he had aged ten years in ten minutes. The supreme confidence that had defined him for three years had completely shattered.
"Katie..." Richard stammered, his voice weak. "Catherine... if you have that kind of money... why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me pay for everything? Why did you let my family treat you like this?"
"Because I wanted to see who you were when you thought I had nothing," I said simply. "A man who loves his wife protects her when she is vulnerable. A man who uses his wife tolerates her only as long as she is convenient. For three years, I gave you every opportunity to be a husband, Richard. Instead, you let your sister treat me like a maid, you let your son talk to me like trash, and tonight, you sat at the head of this table and watched them try to rob me."
"You lied to me!" Richard suddenly shouted, his panic turning into defensive anger. "You entered this marriage under false pretenses! You let me believe I was supporting you!"
"You never supported me, Richard," I corrected him smoothly. "Every utility bill in this house for the last twenty-four months has been paid from an escrow account registered to Aegis Holdings LLC. Do you know who owns Aegis Holdings?"
Richard blinked. "My... my corporate lender owns Aegis."
"No," I smiled softly, a cold, sharp smile that made the room freeze. "Aegis Holdings is a private asset vehicle created by my estate attorneys eighteen months ago. When your technology company failed and your primary line of credit was called in by Deutsche Bank, who do you think bought your six-million-dollar primary mortgage at a forty-percent discount?"
Richard’s face went completely blank. His breath hitched in his chest.
May you like
"You..." he whispered, stumbling backward until his legs hit his dining chair. "You bought my mortgage?"
"I bought the note, the personal guarantees, the secondary liens on your warehouse equipment, and the debt assignment on Brandon’s sports car," I confirmed, reaching into my thrift-store coat pocket and pulling out a slender leather notebook. "And as of six o'clock this evening, Richard... your loan is officially in default."
