Chapter 3 - The Audit Begins
The silence in the hospital room was broken only by the steady, rhythmic beep of the newborn heart monitor.
Dad reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped a speed-dial button. "Marcus," Dad spoke into the receiver, his eyes locked onto Rowan's terrified face. "Send the officers up to room 408. And tell the legal team at Sterling Global to execute the emergency injunction on the Moretti boutique accounts immediately."
"Wait! Stop! Please!" Rowan cried out, dropping down onto his knees beside the foot of my bed, completely abandoning what little pride he had left. "Mr. Sterling, I beg you! Phoebe, look at me! I'm your husband! I'm Leo's father! You can't ruin my life over a mistake!"
"A mistake?" I asked, leaning forward, my voice dripping with cold disgust. "Embezzling three hundred and fifty thousand dollars from your employer over two years isn't a mistake, Rowan. It’s a series of calculated, greedy choices. You thought I was a quiet, harmless accountant who wouldn't notice five-thousand-dollar drips coming out of our joint tax reserve account. You thought because I didn't fight back when your mother insulted my clothes, I was weak."
I took a deep breath, feeling the sore muscles in my abdomen, remembering the sheer, terrifying isolation I had felt three nights ago when my water broke on the living room floor.
"I stayed quiet because I loved you," I whispered. "I swallowed your mother’s toxicity because I thought we were building a real family. But the moment you laughed at me over that phone while I was in labor, you killed whatever love I had left for you. You freed me, Rowan."
The heavy door to the suite swung open. Two uniformed Chicago police officers walked in, accompanied by a sharp-looking man in a dark grey suit holding a leather briefcase—Gideon Sterling's lead corporate attorney, Harrison Cole.
"Mr. Moretti?" Harrison Cole spoke smoothly, stepping between Rowan and my bed. "I am Harrison Cole, general counsel for Sterling Global Investments. We have filed a formal criminal complaint on behalf of your employer, Westlake Capital, after purchasing fifty-one percent of their parent company’s shares at eight o'clock this morning."
Rowan blinked in utter disbelief, his face draining of all remaining color. "You... you bought my company?"
"My father bought your firm three hours ago, Rowan," I said, setting the iPad down on my lap. "Just so he could grant me full, unrestricted access to their internal servers as an independent forensic auditor. It took me forty-five minutes to uncover the double-entry ledgers you kept under your mother’s maiden name."
Harrison Cole gestured to the officers. "Officers, Mr. Moretti is suspected of grand larceny, bank fraud, and wire fraud exceeding three hundred thousand dollars. The financial documents have already been transmitted to the District Attorney's office."
The officers stepped forward, pulling heavy steel handcuffs from their utility belts.
"Phoebe! No! Tell them it's a mistake!" Rowan screamed as his wrists were snapped behind his back. "Think of our son! Do you want Leo's father to be in prison?!"
"My son will know a grandfather who stood by his mother when she needed him," I said, my voice as steady as granite as I turned my head toward the window to look at the morning sunlight hitting the city skyline. "He won't need a father who trades his family's future for an Omega watch."
"Phoebe! Phoebe, please!" Rowan shouted, his shoes dragging against the floor as the officers escorted him out into the hallway, his desperate cries echoing down the quiet corridor until the heavy double doors clicked shut.
Dad walked over to my bedside, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, wrapping his large, warm hand around mine.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" he asked gently, his eyes filled with immense pride and tenderness.
I looked over at the bassinet where little Leo was sleeping peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically. A single tear slipped down my cheek—not a tear of sadness, but of pure, overwhelming liberation.
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"I've never been better, Dad," I whispered. "Now... how long do you think it will take for Selina to realize her luxury boutique is being seized by federal marshals?"
Dad smiled—a cold, sharp smile that had terrified corporate rivals for forty years. "According to Harrison, the seizure notices are being served right... about... now."
