Chapter 6 - The Offshore Mirror
The investigator’s tablet flashed under the fluorescent clinic lights, displaying a cascading list of bank transactions routed through the Cayman Islands.
My eyes scanned the digital rows, the blood draining from my face as the total came into sharp focus. It wasn't just eighty thousand dollars. It was nearly half a million.
"What am I looking at?" I asked, my voice dangerously low.
"That’s not just your mother’s savings, Mr. Reynolds," the state investigator said grimly, swiping to a new screen. "Abigail wasn't just liquidating Martha's accounts. She was using your military allotment deposits, routing them through a shell company disguised as a military charity fund, and transferring the bulk into a foreign account tied to an LLC registered under a completely different name."
Mom peered over my shoulder, her sharp eyes narrowing as she read the corporation name listed on the metadata trail. "I know that name," she whispered, her voice tightening with sudden realization. "That's Jonathan's firm. Jonathan Vance—Abigail’s brother."
My stomach dropped like a stone. Jonathan Vance. The high-powered corporate real estate developer who had tried to buy out our neighborhood block three years ago before I deployed.
"Her brother," I muttered, the puzzle pieces slamming violently into place. "She wasn't acting alone. The entire reason she wanted Mom locked away, declared incompetent, and forced into a care facility wasn't just to steal the cash. They needed clear, uncontested title to the family estate before the property zoning hearings next month."
The investigator nodded. "And since you were deployed overseas, you were legally registered as the primary proxy. If Martha had been declared incapacitated, Abigail would have had full judicial clearance to sell off every asset you both own without your signature."
I stared at the screen, the cold, calculated depth of Abigail’s betrayal sinking into my bones. She hadn't just plotted against an old woman; she had used my absence, my uniform, and my trust as a weapon against my own family.
"Where is Jonathan right now?" I asked, looking straight into the investigator's eyes.
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"We checked his office address ten minutes ago," the investigator replied, his expression grave. "According to local patrol units, Jonathan Vance’s primary office downtown was just cleared out. Desk stripped, servers wiped, and flight manifests show a private charter scheduled out of the municipal airstrip in less than an hour."
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