Chapter 4 - The Audit in the FoyerMy father walked slowly across the hardwood floor, his heavy leather shoes clicking sharply against the wood. He didn't draw a weapon. He stopped three feet from Trevor, towering over him like a mountain of cold granite.
"You called my daughter at eleven-seven P.M. tonight, Trevor," Arthur spoke softly. His baritone was quiet, but it possessed an unyielding, velvet power that filled every corner of the penthouse. "You asked her what time the funeral was."
Trevor swallowed hard, his throat clicking nervously as sweat began to pour down his forehead. "Arthur... listen to me! It was a misunderstanding! The doctors told me Emma’s prognosis was terminal! I was just trying to spare Hannah the emotional trauma—"
THWACK!
My father’s broad right hand shot forward, delivering a single, thunderous backhand blow across Trevor’s face that sent him crashing flat onto his back against the marble hearth.
"ARGH!" Trevor groaned in agony, clutching his bloody lip as he thrashed on the floorboards.
Victoria Vance shrieked in terror, backing against the velvet sofa, her hands raised in total, groveling surrender. "Mr. Vance! Please! I knew nothing about the DNR directive! Trevor told me Hannah agreed to it!"
I stepped forward, pulling an encrypted digital tablet from my bag, projecting high-definition bank transfers and audio recordings onto the wall screens above the fireplace.
The red typography lit up the dark living room:
INTERCEPTED AUDIO LOGS (11:02 PM): Capturing Trevor Brooks instructing Nurse Amy to withhold CPR and life support for five-year-old Emma.
ILLEGAL CORPORATE EMBEZZLEMENT: Documenting two point four million dollars stolen from Weston Maritime into an offshore account in Grand Cayman registered under Trevor and Victoria's names.
FEDERAL RICO ARREST WARRANTS: Issued by the U.S. District Court for Attempted Murder, Child Endangerment, and High Financial Fraud.
Trevor thrashed his head back, his eyes bulging out of his head as he stared at the red numbers flashing across the screen.
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"You... you bugged my corporate account?!" Trevor choked out, weeping in total, sweat-slicked panic.
"I didn't bug your account, Trevor," I revealed flatly, every word cold as mountain ice. "My father's firm has owned fifty-one percent of Weston Maritime for five years. You were stealing from my family's company to fund your pathetic affair."
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