I found unusual payments to Maxwell’s company.
Invoices for truck trips that didn’t appear in our records.
Transfers authorized without delivery confirmations.
And a preliminary shortfall of more than $400,000.
I called Gabrielle immediately.
“We need an independent audit,” I told her. “I think they’re siphoning money.”
Three days later, my attorney showed me the first results.
Maxwell had billed for services that never existed.
Preston had approved the payments.
But there was a third name in the bank records.
Someone who should never have had access to the authorization keys.
When Gabrielle told me who had executed the transfers, I understood why that whole family was in such a hurry to get rid of me.
It was Francine, Preston’s sister.
And worst of all, we had just found a written instruction to pin the responsibility for the missing money on me.
PART 3
“What do you mean, they want to blame me?” I asked Gabrielle.
My attorney turned the computer toward me. There was an email sent from Francine’s corporate account to Lakeshore Freight’s accountant: “If anyone asks about those payments, say Marianne reviewed them. My brother says she approved everything. We need to get the folders ready before she’s gone.”
A chill ran through me. It wasn’t enough for them to push me aside so Preston could marry Veronica. They wanted to leave me holding a fraud, pregnant, while they enjoyed the money.
“Can they fabricate evidence?” I asked.
“They can try,” Gabrielle said. “That’s why we backed up the original records, the bank access logs, and the GPS reports. We won’t accuse anyone without proof, but we also won’t let them alter a single invoice.”
The analysis was damning. Maxwell was billing for trips between Chicago and Indianapolis his trucks had never made. In other cases he charged for parts that had never entered the warehouse. Francine took the invoices straight to accounting and, using an authorization device Preston gave her, released transfers before the managers could verify the goods.
Patricia didn’t appear signing anything, but she had received deposits from Maxwell’s company. Roger also showed up in messages ordering people to “not ask questions because we’re family.”
The next day, Patricia found me eating breakfast in the kitchen of the Lake Forest house. She wore a new necklace and set the box on the table so I’d see it.
“Veronica went with me to pick it out. Preston certainly knows how to spoil his mother. Maybe you’ll learn something before you go.”
I recognized the charge in my banking app: twenty-six thousand dollars, paid from my personal account.
“I paid for that necklace,” I told her.
“Oh, please! My son gave me the card.”
“The card is in your name, but it’s an additional card. The account and the money are mine.”
She laughed with contempt.
“When my son throws you out of this house, you won’t have enough to buy diapers.”
That same afternoon I reviewed the contract Preston flaunted as his great triumph: one million dollars from the construction company owned by Veronica’s father. His family had announced the sum as an investment that would make Lakeshore Freight the most powerful company in the region.
But it wasn’t an investment. It was an advance conditional on material deliveries by extremely strict deadlines. The penalties for delays were enormous. Preston had also signed a personal guarantee. His name was written next to an obligation he couldn’t cover with an SUV and an expensive watch.
I found him that night in the living room, choosing a hotel in Cabo by phone.
“Did you read the penalty clause?” I asked, holding up the contract.
“Meddling in men’s business again.”
“If you don’t deliver on time, they can enforce the guarantee you signed personally.”
“Veronica’s father trusts me.”
“A guarantee doesn’t disappear because the creditor’s daughter likes you.”
Preston snatched the document from me.
“You just want to scare me so I won’t go through with the divorce. You don’t make decisions in my company anymore.”
Two nights later, they held a family dinner. Preston, his parents, Francine, and Maxwell were there. In the middle of the table sat a folder prepared by a law firm.
“We want to end this in a civilized way,” Roger announced. “Especially for the baby’s sake.”
Preston pushed the papers toward me.
“I’ll get you a two-bedroom condo. Plus a sum of money to start over. In exchange, you transfer me the five percent of shares in your name and waive any claim to company property.”
His mother smiled, satisfied.
“For an abandoned woman, that’s a queen’s offer. You should be grateful.”
I read the document. They’d tried to include a waiver so broad it covered rights unrelated to the divorce, even future claims. I struck out two paragraphs.
“My stake can be sold through a separate contract at a set price. I won’t sign a blanket waiver, and I won’t prevent the company’s irregularities from being investigated.”
Maxwell let out a snicker.
“Look at her, still thinks she can give the boss orders.”
I held his gaze.
“You worry about proving where your trucks were on the days you billed four hundred thousand dollars.”
Francine slammed the table.
“You’re bitter! My brother left you and now you want to destroy us.”
Preston leapt up.
“I’m in charge here! Once I have your five percent, you’ll never set foot in my offices again.”
That’s when I understood he still didn’t grasp the ownership structure of his own company.
Seven years earlier, to finance Lakeshore Freight, we’d agreed that my firm, Horizon Capital, would hold eighty-five percent of the shares. Preston would receive ten percent for his commercial work, and I’d keep another five percent in my own name.
He knew Horizon Capital was the majority shareholder. But every document came through attorneys, and he never bothered to find out who actually controlled the firm. He’d treated it like an outside investor, interested only in collecting returns.
Horizon had been created by me before the marriage. I held its control and directed its decisions. The fact that Preston appeared in magazines as CEO didn’t make him the owner of the capital.
The house wasn’t his either. I bought it with family inheritance money, and the deed was solely in my name. Before we married, we signed a prenuptial agreement keeping our property separate. Preston remembered signing, but had never wanted to read it.
Through attorneys, we later completed a formal sale of my direct stake. Preston paid the agreed price with the condo he was offering and a documented payment. That left him with fifteen percent of the shares. He couldn’t have imagined the other eighty-five percent was still under my control.
