Chapter 3 - The Audit of DeceptionThe entire ballroom erupted into frantic, shocked murmuring.
Daniel rushed forward, his hands shaking violently as he tried to grab the binder off the table. "That's confidential company property! You can't show that to anyone!"
Gabriel stepped into his path, placing one broad hand against Daniel’s chest, shoving him backward into a chair with effortless, crushing force.
"Sit down, Daniel," Gabriel commanded flatly. "Or I will let Marcus handle you in the parking lot."
Julian opened the binder, tapping a high-definition digital tablet that projected live financial records onto the ballroom’s large presentation screens—the very screens Daniel had set up to display his company's annual achievements.
The entire crowd watched in total, speech-bound horror as certified forensic audit reports filled the screens:
EMBEZZLED CAPITAL: Over the last three years, Daniel had systematically stolen $1.8 million from Vance Global Logistics through fraudulent vendor invoices to fund his affair with Clare Bennett, her luxury wardrobe, and her apartment rent.
THE FABRICATED STARTUP: Daniel’s "successful tech startup" was an empty shell entity that possessed zero proprietary software, zero real clients, and was kept afloat entirely by unauthorized transfers from my private family trust.
THE FORGED POWER OF ATTORNEY: Daniel had attempted to forge my signature two weeks prior to transfer my ancestral family home into Clare Bennett’s name.
Clare Bennett dropped her napkin, stepping back from Daniel as if he were covered in plague. "Daniel... you said you were a multi-billionaire! You told me you owned Vance Logistics!"
Daniel thrashed in his chair, sweat pouring down his temples, looking around the room at the fifty influential guests who were now looking at him with absolute, nauseated disgust.
"Claire! Please!" Daniel wept, his voice cracking into a desperate, pathetic whine as he looked at me. "I was tricked! Clare seduced me! She threatened to expose me if I didn't give her money! I love you, Claire! I love Sophie! It was a mistake!"
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I looked down at the man I had spent seven years supporting, trying to build a peaceful family with, only for him to strike our twelve-year-old daughter over a spilled drink to protect his mistress's vanity.
"You didn't make a mistake, Daniel," I said, my voice cold, calm, and utterly devoid of pity. "You made a choice. And tonight, you get to live with it."
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