Chapter 3 - The Audit in BostonBy 8:00 AM the following morning, the rain over Boston had cleared, leaving behind a crisp, metallic autumn breeze that rattled the high glass windows of Hayes, Vance & Colton LLP in downtown Boston.
I sat in the broad leather armchair of Rebecca Hayes—the most feared corporate and matrimonial attorney in New England.
I wore an immaculate dark suit, my dark hair pulled back into a severe, professional knot, my hazel eyes holding an unshakeable, sovereign clarity. Beside me sat two senior forensic accountants carrying heavy black ledgers.
Rebecca Hayes set down her coffee cup, looking across her desk at the certified property records I had pulled from the Suffolk County registry three hours prior.
"The power of attorney Dorian used to transfer the Beacon Hill brownstone was signed in June, Audra," Rebecca reported, her voice sharp as surgical steel. "While you were under anesthesia at King’s College Hospital in London."
"Is it forgery?" I asked flatly.
"It is criminal fraud, grand larceny, and a direct breach of fiduciary duty," Rebecca clarified, sliding a second document flat onto the desk. "Because Dorian executed that transfer using forged medical consent forms, the deed transfer to Blythe Sorrell’s shell firm is legally voidable under Massachusetts emergency property laws."
"And the rest of his empire, Rebecca?" I asked, my hands flat over my lap. "The Providence shipping docks, the luxury hotels, the secondary logistics networks?"
Rebecca offered a dark, razor-sharp smile—the look of a veteran trial lawyer who had just been handed an unshakeable victory.
"Your father’s original logistics firm—Vance Transport—was merged into Kincaid Global seventeen years ago without a formal prenuptial division," Rebecca revealed. "Because you never signed a secondary waiver, you own fifty percent of every vessel, every terminal, and every bank account registered under the Kincaid name."
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I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Boston skyline, feeling a cold, weightless power settle into every corner of my soul.
"Freeze his operational liquidity at midnight, Rebecca," I commanded flatly. "And file the ex-parte eviction notice for the Beacon Hill brownstone before lunch."
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