Chapter 6: The Forensic Accountant
His name was Dennis Pryor and he worked out of a small office near the university.
Ruth had used him before.
She said he was methodical and thorough and that financial concealment cases were his specialty.
I met him on a Thursday morning while Mark thought I was getting my hair done.
Dennis was younger than I expected, mid-forties, with the quiet focused manner of someone who spent most of his time looking at numbers that told stories people preferred to keep hidden.
He had already received the investigator's report from Ruth.
"I've reviewed the initial findings," he said.
"I have some questions before I begin the formal analysis."
"Of course."
"The joint investment account — were you ever involved in reviewing the statements?"
"Mark handled the investments.
I reviewed the household checking account."
"Did you ever receive paper statements for the investment account?"
"They were paperless.
Mark set that up when we switched banks."
Dennis wrote something down.
"Did you have online access to the investment account?"
"I had a login.
I used it maybe twice in ten years."
"Do you still have the login credentials?"
"I think so.
They're saved somewhere."
"I'll need access." He looked up.
"I also want to look at the joint tax returns for the last eight years.
Specifically the Schedule B interest and dividend income and any Schedule D capital gains.
If money was moved through investment accounts, it may have generated tax events that were reported but not explained to you."
I had signed eight years of tax returns without reading them carefully.
Mark had always handled the taxes.
He would put the returns in front of me, explain the general picture — we owe this much, or we're getting this back — and I would sign.
"I signed them," I said.
"I didn't review them in detail."
Dennis nodded without judgment.
"That's common," he said.
"It's also useful to us, because it means any irregularities in the returns are attributable to the person who prepared and managed them." He paused.
"Did Mark prepare the returns himself or use an accountant?"
"He used an accountant for the first few years.
Then he started doing them himself with software."
"When did he switch to doing them himself?"
I thought about it.
"About seven years ago."
Dennis wrote that down too.
"That timing is consistent with the transfer pattern the investigator identified," he said.
He said it the way someone might note that a train was running on schedule.
Calm.
Certain.
"How long will the full analysis take?" I asked.
"Two weeks if the records are accessible.
Possibly three if I need to subpoena anything." He looked at me.
"I want to be clear about what I'm likely to find.
Based on the investigator's report, the $190,000 figure is almost certainly a floor, not a ceiling.
These patterns rarely stop at what's initially visible."
The room was very quiet for a moment.
"How much more?" I asked.
"I don't know yet.
But I want you to be prepared for a larger number."
I drove home and made dinner and sat across from Mark while he talked about a podcast he had been listening to about early retirement strategies.
He had opinions about index funds and withdrawal rates and the importance of geographic arbitrage, which apparently meant moving somewhere cheaper to make your money last longer.
"Have you thought about where you'd want to live?" he asked.
"If we had flexibility?"
"Not really," I said.
"I've been looking at some places.
Portugal came up a lot.
Low cost of living, good weather, easy residency for Americans."
He had been researching where to move.
With my father's money.
To a country with different financial regulations.
"That's a big change," I said.
"That's the point." He smiled.
"A fresh start."
I cut a piece of chicken and put it in my mouth and chewed slowly.
"Let's get through the estate process first," I said.
"Of course." He reached across and touched my hand.
"I just want you to know I've been thinking about our future.
That's all."
His hand was warm.
It felt exactly the way it always had.
I looked at my plate.
"I know," I said.
Dennis called me eleven days later.
I was in the parking lot of a grocery store when my phone rang.
I stayed in the car.
"I have the full picture," he said.
"Tell me."
"The total amount moved from joint accounts into the Delaware holding company over six years is $312,000.
Not $190,000." A pause.
"There are also two additional accounts I found that were not in the investigator's report.
One in Mark's name only, opened five years ago.
One in the name of the Delaware company at a different institution.
Combined balance across all hidden accounts is approximately $580,000."
I stared through the windshield at the parking lot.
"He has $580,000 hidden," I said.
"Yes.
And there's one more thing." Dennis's voice was careful.
"The Delaware company received a wire transfer eight months ago from an account registered to a woman named Sandra Oates.
The transfer was $45,000."
I didn't recognize the name.
"Who is Sandra Oates?" I asked.
May you like
Dennis was quiet for exactly one second.
"That's a question for your attorney," he said.
