Chapter 2 - The Transfer That Never Should Have Existed"SIMONE, ANSWER ME! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'VE JUST INTERRUPTED!"
Grant's voice burst through my phone the moment I answered.
I stood at my kitchen island, staring at the banking notification.
"Good afternoon to you, too."
"Don't play games. Why did you contact the bank?"
"Why did you attempt to add yourself to my corporate account?"
A brief silence followed.
Then he laughed.
It was a familiar laugh.
The same dismissive sound I'd heard whenever I questioned suspicious spending during our marriage.
"That's a misunderstanding."
"Then help me understand it."
"It's related to some business obligations we discussed before the divorce."
"We never discussed transferring ninety-four thousand five hundred dollars to Northstar Operations."
Grant stopped laughing.
"Where did you hear that name?"
I felt my pulse quicken.
There it was.
The first genuine crack in his confidence.
"Are you saying the company has nothing to do with you?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you're interfering in matters you don't understand."
I almost smiled.
For nine years, Grant had convinced himself that because I rarely argued, I rarely noticed.
He had apparently forgotten that I spent my professional life tracing concealed transactions.
"Grant, I own a forensic accounting firm."
"That doesn't mean you understand my business."
"Then explain your business."
Another silence.
Finally, his voice hardened.
"You're making a serious mistake."
I ended the call.
I didn't need another argument.
I needed evidence.
Within fifteen minutes, I was speaking with my banking relationship manager, Rebecca Lawson.
Rebecca had handled my company's accounts for six years.
She knew I was the sole shareholder and director.
She also knew Grant had never been authorized to make corporate financial decisions.
"Simone," she began, "I want to assure you that the request hasn't been approved."
"Thank you. How did it reach your department?"
"A set of corporate authorization documents was submitted electronically."
"Under whose credentials?"
"We're reviewing that now."
"And the transfer?"
"It's on hold pending verification."
I closed my eyes.
For the first time that day, I could breathe properly.
"What concerned your team?" I asked.
Rebecca paused.
"The signature matched an older document, but the supporting authority didn't correspond with our current corporate records."
"Meaning?"
"The submission identified Mr. Mercer as your company's financial controller."
I stared at the wall.
Grant had never worked for my company.
Not for a single day.
"Rebecca, he has never held that position."
"That's why we contacted you."
I thanked her and asked the bank to preserve the submission, restrict further changes, and follow its fraud procedures.
After we disconnected, I called my attorney.
Helena Brooks had represented me throughout the divorce.
She was forty-seven, sharp-eyed, relentlessly organized, and refreshingly unimpressed by people who believed expensive suits made them important.
She answered on the second ring.
"Simone. Is everything okay?"
"I think Grant is trying to steal from my company."
Helena went quiet.
"Tell me everything."
I explained the attempted transfer, the forged authority documents, and the suspicious payments to Northstar Operations.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked a question I hadn't considered.
"Do you still have the original divorce settlement documents?"
"Of course."
"Good. Preserve them. And don't alter anything on your computer. We may need independent forensic evidence."
"Why the settlement documents?"
"Because if someone copied your signature from an existing legal document, we need to establish the source."
A cold sensation spread through my stomach.
I remembered signing dozens of papers during the divorce.
Grant's attorney had received copies of nearly everything.
Including documents bearing my signature.
"Helena, could he really have used those?"
"He could have tried. Whether the bank accepted them is another matter. We need to determine exactly what was submitted."
I looked toward the windows.
Outside, the rain was growing heavier.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"He purchased an engagement ring for another woman using my account."
Helena sighed.
"Simone."
"His mother collected it."
"Was the card authorized at the time?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Then we need to distinguish between spending you voluntarily permitted, spending that violated any agreed restrictions, and transactions involving actual deception. Those aren't necessarily the same thing."
I appreciated her honesty.
She had never promised me that being treated badly automatically entitled me to financial compensation.
That was one reason I trusted her.
"There's more," I continued. "I found recurring payments to Northstar going back fourteen months."
"From your company?"
"Yes."
"Do you recognize the services?"
"No."
"Then we need a proper audit."
I glanced at my laptop.
"I know a few people who can help with that."
For the first time since the telephone call from Arizona, Helena laughed.
"Yes, Simone. I imagine you do."
The following morning, I arrived at Carter Forensic Consulting before seven.
Our offices occupied the fourth floor of a renovated brick building in downtown Ottawa.
When I opened the firm nearly a decade earlier, I'd worked alone in a rented room.
Now twelve people depended on the company.
Twelve employees with mortgages, children, aging parents, and lives outside the office.
The thought that Grant might have endangered their livelihoods filled me with a different kind of anger.
Not the sharp pain of betrayal.
Something steadier.
Responsibility.
Nadia Shah, my senior forensic analyst, arrived twenty minutes later carrying two coffees.
Nadia was forty-one, meticulous, and one of the few people who had never been intimidated by Grant.
She placed a cup on my desk.
"You look like you've been interrogating numbers all night."
"I have."
"Good numbers or bad numbers?"
"Very bad numbers."
I showed her the statements.
She sat down.
Within ten minutes, her expression changed.
"Simone, these payments aren't normal operating expenses."
"That's what I thought."
"Northstar Operations appears eleven times in this export."
"Eleven?"
"At least. And the references are inconsistent."
We spent the next three hours examining invoices, banking records, and archived emails.
The total was worse than I'd expected.
One hundred twenty-six thousand four hundred dollars.
Transferred from my company over fourteen months.
Every payment had been presented as a legitimate business expense.
Most were individually small enough to avoid attracting immediate attention during monthly reviews.
That alone didn't prove fraud.
But several invoices claimed services that overlapped with work our own employees had already completed.
One billed us for a cybersecurity review during a month when we'd used a different, established security contractor.
Another described a software migration that had never occurred.
Nadia leaned back.
"Someone has been submitting invoices for imaginary work."
"Who approved them?"
She turned the monitor toward me.
There, beside the approval records, was my name.
Simone Carter.
And underneath it, an electronic authorization timestamp.
I stared at the date.
I remembered that particular Tuesday.
I had been attending a professional conference in Vancouver.
My presentation had started at nine in the morning Pacific time.
The authorization was recorded at almost the same moment from an Ottawa-based login.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
Nadia looked at me.
"Then someone used your credentials."
My stomach tightened.
"Who had access?"
"We'll need our IT contractor to check the logs."
I nodded.
Then Nadia clicked another file.
Her expression changed again.
"Simone, there's something worse."
"What?"
"Northstar wasn't paid from just one account."
She opened a second ledger.
Several payment descriptions referenced a credit facility associated with Mercer Strategies.
Grant's consulting business.
Then she showed me an attached document.
A corporate guarantee.
My company's name appeared across the top.
Below it was a statement claiming Carter Forensic Consulting had agreed to secure certain financial obligations undertaken by Grant's company.
I had never signed such a guarantee.
I had never even seen it.
But my signature appeared at the bottom.
And beside that signature was a familiar name.
Witness: Patricia Mercer.
I stared at the document.
My former mother-in-law hadn't merely collected a diamond ring.
May you like
Someone had also placed her name on a document that could threaten the business I'd spent years building.
And whatever Patricia knew, Grant was desperate to keep hidden.
Related Stories
