Chapter 4 - The Ledger of the Past
The forensic accountant’s office was located on the third floor of an unassuming brick building near the financial district—far removed from the towering glass monolith of Fierro Capital. Her name was Evelyn Vance—no relation to Tyler, though the coincidence had made my skin crawl when I first read the appointment card.
Evelyn was in her late fifties, with sharp gray eyes behind round tortoiseshell glasses and a desk buried under towering stacks of bank statements, tax returns, and digital printouts.
“Mr. Fierro’s office called ahead,” Evelyn said, not looking up from a highlighted spreadsheet as I sat down opposite her. “Said you’d be bringing in personal records from 2021 through the present.”
I placed a thick manila folder on her desk. Inside were the meager financial records I had managed to keep from my marriage to Tyler: old tax filings, joint bank statements from the months leading up to his disappearance, and the sparse formal notices from the state child support enforcement agency that had been quietly closed out due to “unlocatable debtor status.”
Evelyn took the folder, opened it, and began flipping through the pages with practiced speed. Her eyes scanned the numbers like a musician reading sheet music.
“Your ex-husband was meticulous,” she murmured after a few moments. “I’ll give him that. Most people who try to hide income use simple offshore accounts or crypto wallets. Tyler went old-school. He set up a series of dummy LLCs registered under dormant corporate entities in Delaware, funneling contractor fees through them while maintaining a steady W-2 salary at his primary employer.”
“Is it enough?” I asked, leaning forward, my hands tightly clasped in my lap. “Is it enough to prove he deliberately defaulted on support?”
Evelyn finally looked up, her expression a mix of professional clinical detachment and quiet sympathy. “It’s more than enough to prove financial fraud against his employer. As for the child support… Jessica, look at this entry from four years ago.”
She spun her laptop monitor around so I could see the digital ledger.
“Three months after he left you, right when you filed for formal state support assistance, a lump sum of forty thousand dollars was deposited into a private trust account managed by a local law firm,” Evelyn pointed out, tapping the screen with a red pen. “That account was registered under Tyler’s name using his maiden mother’s surname as a secondary identifier. He had money. He always had money. He simply reallocated it to make himself look indigent so the court would waive his obligations.”
A cold, heavy numbness spread through my chest. The memory of sitting in the family court judge’s chambers flashed before my eyes—Tyler sitting across from me in a cheap suit, looking exhausted and pleading poverty, while the judge reluctantly agreed to a nominal zero-dollar support order because there were no verifiable assets to attach.
It wasn't a misunderstanding. It wasn't youthful panic. It was a calculated, deliberate theft from his own child.
“He let me work seventy-hour weeks,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “He watched me struggle to pay for Lily’s inhalers while he was sitting on a forty-thousand-dollar cushion.”
“And that’s just what we can see from the public filings,” Evelyn said gently, pulling the laptop back. “If Mr. Fierro’s team has access to the private banking metadata—which they likely do—we can track every single transaction he made during the transition.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting another message from Giovanni or perhaps a follow-up from Vanessa. Instead, it was an incoming call from an unknown local number.
I hesitated, then pressed accept.
“Jessica?”
The voice was shaky, breathless, and unmistakably panicked. It was Vanessa.
“Vanessa,” I said, my voice hardening instantly. “How did you get this number?”
“It doesn't matter,” she rushed out, her words tumbling over each other. “Tyler knows you met with Giovanni this morning. One of his corporate associates saw your car outside the Fierro building. Tyler is losing his mind, Jessica. He’s packing a bag. He thinks you’re going to ruin everything.”
I stood up from the chair so fast that the metal legs scraped loudly against the linoleum floor. “Let him run. If he has nothing to hide, why is he packing?”
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“You don't understand!” Vanessa cried out, a sob breaking through her voice. “It’s not just about the money at his office, or the child support. There’s something else. Something he found out about Lily before he left. If you push him too far, he’s going to use it against you in ways you can’t imagine.”
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