Chapter 5: The Accountant's Arrival
The evening rain began to strike the tall leaded windows of the study, tapping a relentless rhythm against the glass as I waited for the estate's chief accountant to arrive. Arthur Vance—no relation to the dissolved firm, or so he had claimed when he was hired five years ago—had been summoned by an urgent encrypted message sent from my personal terminal. Within forty minutes of the chime, the heavy oak front doors echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps crossing the marble foyer.
The study door swung open without a gentle knock. Arthur stood on the threshold, his overcoat damp at the shoulders, breathing heavily as though he had run all the way from the gatehouse lodge.
"Mr. Lorenzo," Arthur said, adjusting his spectacles with a hand that visibly shook. "Your message mentioned an immediate audit of the secondary conveyance accounts. At this hour?"
"Step inside, Arthur, and close the doors," I said, gesturing toward the leather chairs in front of the unlit fireplace.
Arthur hesitated, his eyes darting from my face to the open ledgers spread across the desk. "Sir, the quarterly reviews are scheduled for the end of the month. Preparing the complete transaction logs requires coordination with the downtown banking board."
"I am not asking for a scheduled review," I said, walking around the desk and stopping two feet from where he stood. "I am asking why four hundred thousand dollars in maritime revenue was redirected to a dormant shell company bearing the name Vance & Associates three weeks ago."
Arthur's color drained instantly, his pale skin taking on the gray tint of the rain-streaked glass behind him. He swallowed hard, his fingers clutching the brim of his wet umbrella so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
"That... that transfer was authorized under the primary partnership clause," Arthur stammered, taking a half-step backward toward the closed doors. "Mrs. Lorenzo presented the board with the amended proxy bearing your seal and signature."
"My seal was locked in this very desk," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I watched him closely. "A desk that has not been opened by me in six months. Did you verify the signature in person, Arthur, or did you simply take her word for it because her name shares your surname?"
Arthur stiffened, the name connection hanging heavily between us like an unexploded charge. He lowered his umbrella to the floor, the metal tip clattering against the marble hearth.
"She told me the restructuring was necessary to protect the estate from the upcoming federal tax revisions," Arthur whispered, looking down at his shoes. "She said you were aware of the arrangement and preferred to keep your name off the public filings."
"She lied," I said. "And you aided an unauthorized asset diversion without a direct verbal confirmation from me."
May you like
Arthur raised his hands defensively. "I have the digital access logs on my laptop in the car. Every transfer code, every proxy timestamp, every secondary communication she sent. I can bring them in right now."
"Go and get them," I instructed, my eyes fixed on his. "And if you attempt to drive out of these gates instead of returning through that door, I will not just fire you—I will ensure every financial institution in this state blacklists your name permanently."
