Chapter 7 - The Audit of Greed
Within two hours, the grand mansion was swarming with federal auditors, forensic accountants, and private bailiffs.
The illusion of wealth evaporated with terrifying speed.
In the living room, Margaret sat rigidly on a velvet sofa that no longer belonged to her, clutching an empty teacup while two men in gray suits methodically cataloged the priceless artwork on the walls.
“You can’t take these,” Margaret hissed, her voice trembling with impotent rage as an auditor slapped a bright yellow inventory sticker onto a seventeenth-century oil painting. “Those are family heirlooms!”
“Those were purchased using embezzled operational funds from an Escalante shell corporation in 2021,” the auditor replied without looking up. “Everything in this room, down to the silverware in the drawer, is now property of the receiver.”
Brenda was upstairs, frantically packing her designer clothes into cheap plastic garbage bags because her Louis Vuitton luggage had already been confiscated by the bailiffs as collateral against her personal credit card debts—debts she had run up believing Andrew’s fortune was infinite.
When I walked up the grand staircase and pushed open the master bedroom door, I found her throwing tantrums among piles of silk dresses and designer shoes.
“You ruined my life!” Brenda shrieked, whirling around to face me, her mascara running down her cheeks. “He was supposed to divorce you! He was supposed to give me everything!”
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my crimson pantsuit, watching her with clinical detachment.
“You wanted my life, Brenda,” I said quietly. “You just didn't realize how expensive the rent was.”
She lunged toward me with her fingernails extended, but two armed guards intercepted her instantly, pinning her arms behind her back and dragging her toward the landing.
“Get her out of my house,” I ordered.
“Mariana! Please!” Andrew’s voice echoed up the stairwell as two guards hauled him into the master suite, his silk bathrobe rumpled, his face bruised from where he had resisted downstairs. They shoved him onto his knees on the very same white carpet where he had struck me the night before.
He looked up at me, the arrogance completely gone, replaced by the pathetic, sniveling terror of a man who had finally realized he was entirely at the mercy of someone he had abused.
“Mariana… please,” Andrew choked out, his voice breaking as he reached out to touch the hem of my trousers. “We’ve been married for four years. We share a life. I made mistakes, I know I did… but we can fix this. I’ll do whatever you want. Just… don't throw me out.”
I looked down at him.
I remembered the sound of the glass shattering. I remembered the heavy ring of his hand against my cheek. I remembered the cold, cruel laughter of his mother and mistress echoing through these exact halls.
“You told me to kneel last night, Andrew,” I reminded him, my voice dropping into a register of absolute frost.
May you like
He swallowed hard, trembling violently.
“Now it’s your turn.”
