Chapter 3: What the Trust Account Said
I checked into a hotel on Brickell that night.
Fourteen floors up, the city lights spread out below me like something that had nothing to do with what I had just lived through.
Mr.
Miller arrived at nine o'clock sharp.
He set a manila folder on the small table by the window and didn't sit down.
"The Penelope Hartwell Trust was established eleven months ago," he said.
"The primary beneficiary is Penelope.
But the second named party — the one with co-signatory authority over disbursements — is Spencer."
I looked at the document.
Spencer's signature was on the third page.
Clean.
Deliberate.
The same signature I had watched him practice years ago when he was nervous about his first real contract.
"He helped set it up," I said.
"He didn't just help.
He introduced the trust attorney.
The account was seeded with four hundred thousand dollars.
We're still tracing the source, but the wire originated from a holding company registered in Delaware."
"What's the holding company called?"
Mr.
Miller turned to the next page.
"Crestline Development Partners."
I sat back.
"That's one of ours.
That's an Apex subsidiary."
"Yes."
The room was very quiet for a moment.
"So Spencer used Apex funds — my funds — to help establish a trust for the woman he was planning to marry."
"That is what the documents suggest."
I stood up and walked to the window.
Fourteen floors below, a couple was crossing the street, laughing about something.
I watched them until they disappeared around a corner.
"How long has he been moving money?"
"We found three transfers over the past fourteen months.
The total is just over one point two million dollars."
I turned around.
"Does he know we've found this?"
"Not yet.
His attorney filed a preliminary injunction this afternoon to freeze the property recovery clause.
Standard delay tactic.
But it won't hold — the agreements are airtight.
What concerns me more right now is the Delaware company.
If he structured those transfers to look like vendor payments, we may be looking at something beyond civil litigation."
"You mean fraud."
"I mean we should bring in a forensic accountant before we say that word out loud in a courtroom."
I nodded.
"Do it.
And Mr.
Miller — I want to know everything about Penelope Hartwell's father.
His name, his companies, his connections to Spencer.
Everything."
"I'll have a preliminary report by Thursday."
After he left, I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the folder.
Spencer had sent me a message that morning telling me he missed me.
He had been planning this for over a year.
My phone lit up.
A number I didn't recognize.
I almost didn't answer.
"Laura." The voice was young.
Careful.
"This is Penelope.
May you like
Please don't hang up.
There's something Spencer hasn't told either of us — and I think you need to hear it before Thursday."
