Chapter 8 - The Accountant's Revenge
We all stared at Greg in surprise. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in a week, but there was a newfound resolve in his eyes.
"Greg?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"
Greg set the heavy folder on Arthur's desk and pulled out a chair. "Celeste tried to make me sign a non-disclosure agreement this morning after she posted bail. She told me if I testified against her or helped you, she'd take everything we own in a divorce."
He looked at me, tears brimming in his eyes. "Mara, I loved your sister. For ten years, I gave her everything she wanted. But last night... seeing those photos of what she did to your house... seeing how far she and your mother were willing to go to destroy you... I realized I was married to a monster."
Greg unbuttoned his jacket and opened the folder. Inside were hundreds of pages of bank statements, tax records, and encrypted spreadsheets.
"What is all this?" Arthur asked, leaning in.
"This is the real financial history of Apex Consulting and Beatrice's real estate firm," Greg revealed. "I'm a senior forensic accountant, Arthur. For the past forty-eight hours, while Celeste was in jail, I combed through our joint accounts, Beatrice’s land trusts, and the shell company accounts."
Greg pulled out a specific spreadsheet highlighting transactions highlighted in yellow.
"Celeste didn't just steal your $42,500, Mara," Greg said, his voice trembling with anger. "She and Beatrice have been running an illegal tax shelter scheme for five years. Beatrice was transferring offshore funds into Apex Consulting, masking them as 'consulting fees' to evade state business taxes and launder money from fraudulent real estate appraisals."
Arthur gasped. "Grand larceny and federal tax evasion..."
"It gets worse," Greg continued, pointing to a column of figures. "Beatrice used part of those laundered funds to pay off a former associate who helped forge birth certificates and adoption registries in county records ten years ago. They’ve done this before, Mara. Celeste isn't the first person Beatrice tried to 'procure' a child for."
The room went dead quiet. My breath caught in my throat. "What did you say?"
Greg looked at me with deep sympathy. "Ten years ago, Beatrice's youngest cousin was pregnant out of wedlock. Beatrice arranged a private 'custody transfer' using forged consent papers and sold the adoption rights to a wealthy donor in Oregon. She has a whole template for this."
I felt nauseous. Beatrice hadn't just come up with a desperate plan on the fly. She was running a systematic baby-trafficking and forgery operation using her legal connections and real estate wealth as cover!
"Greg," Arthur said, his fingers flying across his keyboard. "If you turn state's evidence with these documents, the federal prosecutors won't just charge them with break-in and wire fraud. They'll face RICO charges—Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations."
"I know," Greg said firmly. "I'm turning it all over to the IRS Criminal Investigation Division and the Department of Justice tomorrow morning. And Mara..."
Greg reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cashier's check, placing it gently on the table. It was made out to Arthur Vance's legal trust for $50,000.
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"This is my personal savings," Greg said, looking me in the eye. "It’s the money Celeste stole from you, plus interest. Use it to fight them. Make sure they never hurt another child again."
Tears sprang to my eyes as I hugged my brother-in-law. "Thank you, Greg. Thank you."
