Chapter 18 - The Confession Circle
We didn't let them into the living room; we kept them standing in the spacious, sunlit foyer, making it clear that their stay was strictly temporary and on our terms.
Uncle Greg Sr. shifted uncomfortably, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his windbreaker. Cousin Marcus looked down at his shoes, refusing to meet our eyes.
"We heard about Linda's business accounts," Greg Sr. started, clearing his throat nervously. "And... well, Marcus and I checked our corporate portals this morning, too. Our accounts are locked down as well."
"Imagine that," I remarked dryly, leaning against the wall with my laptop still under my arm. "Who would have thought that funneling personal party expenses through commercial business accounts to dodge taxes would trigger a federal audit? It’s almost as if numbers don't lie."
Greg Sr. flinched at my tone. He looked at Vanessa, his eyes pleading for mercy. "Vanessa, honey, you know how Brenda is. She can be very persuasive. She told us it was just a standard corporate sponsorship for the community center. She said everyone was doing it."
"Everyone except me," Vanessa replied, her voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of the desperation they were fishing for. "And everyone except Nora, who told you months ago to stop trying to keep up appearances you couldn't afford."
"We know, we know," Cousin Marcus muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "We were fools. We got caught up in the hype. But Nora—you're a forensic accountant. You know how to talk to these compliance officers. Can't you just... I don't know, sign a paper saying it was all a big misunderstanding? Say it was a clerical error?"
I stared at Marcus for a long, silent moment. The sheer audacity of it was staggering. Even after watching Brenda’s life implode twenty-four hours earlier, they still thought the rules didn't apply to them—that a magic wave of an accountant's wand could erase illegal financial behavior.
"No, Marcus," I said, my voice cutting through the foyer like a scalpel. "I can't. And I won't. Falsifying corporate expense reports to fund a teenager's birthday party is a federal offense. I am an auditor, not a criminal defense attorney or a fixer for amateur white-collar fraudsters."
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Greg Sr. let out a defeated groan, leaning his forehead against the front door frame. "We're going to lose everything," he whispered. "The business, the commercial loans, our credit ratings... it's all going down."
"Then consider it an expensive lesson in integrity," I replied softly. "Clean books start with honest choices. You made your entries. Now you have to audit your own lives."
