Chapter 3: What the Records Showed
Sarah placed the second folder on the table without ceremony.
It was thinner than the first.
Pale blue cover.
No label on the front.
Julian stared at it.
He didn't reach for it.
"What is that?" he said.
"A financial reconstruction," Sarah said.
"Eighteen months of Sterling House accounts.
Prepared by an independent forensic accountant."
"You had my accounts audited?" His voice rose.
"You had no right—"
"Elena had every right," Sarah said.
"She is a fifty-percent shareholder of record.
She has been since the company was incorporated."
Julian turned to me.
"You were never involved in the business."
"I was never visible in the business," I said.
"That was your preference, not mine.
My name is on the original articles of incorporation.
My capital funded the first two locations.
I have every wire transfer receipt."
He opened the blue folder.
The first page was a summary table.
Two columns.
Money in.
Money out.
The figures in the right column were significantly larger than those on the left, and the discrepancy had a label: *Unaccounted distributions — personal use.*
"This is a mistake," Julian said.
"The accountant's contact information is on the final page," Sarah said.
"You're welcome to call him."
Julian turned pages.
His breathing changed — shorter, quieter, like a man who had just realized the room he was standing in had no other exits.
"These are operating expenses," he said.
"Travel.
Client entertainment.
Standard costs."
"The Maldives trip in March," I said.
"Was that a client?"
He looked up.
"The Nantucket rental in June," I said.
"The jewelry purchase in April.
The car registered to a private address in Cambridge." I kept my voice level.
"I have receipts for all of it, Julian.
Receipts you signed."
"You've been spying on me."
"I've been protecting what belongs to me."
He closed the folder.
Pushed it back toward Sarah.
"I want my own attorney present before this goes any further."
"Of course," Sarah said.
"That's your right."
He reached for his phone.
Victoria's name was still on the screen, the missed call notification blinking quietly.
He turned the phone face-down.
"Call whoever you need to call," I said.
"I'll wait."
He looked at me across the table — across the rosemary chicken that had gone cold, the Burgundy he had opened for a celebration that hadn't happened, the empty chair where Victoria Vance was supposed to be sitting.
"You planned all of this," he said.
It wasn't an accusation anymore.
It was something closer to recognition.
"I planned for the possibility," I said.
"You made it a certainty."
He stood up and walked to the window.
Outside, the street was quiet.
A neighbor's porch light was on.
Ordinary Tuesday evening.
Nothing to indicate that inside this house, nine years were being methodically disassembled.
"I can make this simple," he said, still facing the window.
"I'll buy you out.
Fair market value for your share.
Clean split.
No court."
Sarah's pen stopped moving.
I said nothing.
Julian turned around.
"That's a reasonable offer, Elena.
You get your money.
I keep the business running.
Nobody has to go through a public proceeding."
"How much?" I said.
He named a number.
It was less than half of what the forensic summary showed Sterling House to be worth — and significantly less than what the unaccounted distributions alone had cost the company.
"That number," Sarah said carefully, "does not reflect the current valuation."
"It reflects what I'm willing to offer tonight," Julian said.
"Tomorrow, with my attorney present, the number may look different."
He meant it as a threat.
His expression said so — the slight lift of the chin, the steadiness returning to his shoulders.
He thought he had found a door.
Sarah looked at me.
I picked up my water glass and took a slow sip.
"We'll see you in court, Julian," I said.
The steadiness left his shoulders again.
His phone lit up a second time.
Victoria's name.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Then he walked out of the dining room without another word, and I heard his footsteps on the stairs — going up, not toward the front door.
Sarah waited until the sound faded.
"He's not leaving," she said quietly.
"No," I said.
"He thinks if he stays in the house tonight, it gives him some kind of standing."
Sarah closed her leather case.
"Does he know about the rest?"
May you like
I set my glass down.
"Not yet," I said.
