Chapter 2 - The Audit
The appraisal appointment didn't happen at four o’clock, because at 3:55 PM, three men in dark charcoal suits walked up our front steps with thick briefcases and federal-style binders.
Michael had just come down from the upstairs office, holding a stack of unsigned corporate checks, when the doorbell chimed. He swung the door open, expecting the local realtor, Addison’s friend Kelly.
Instead, he got a middle-aged woman with sharp cheekbones and a badge hanging from her lapel.
"Mr. Michael Patterson?" she asked, her voice clipped and professional. "My name is Special Investigator Vance. We’re here pursuant to a court-ordered financial review of Patterson & Sons sub-contractor accounts and asset dispersion over the past thirty-six months."
Michael’s face drained of color so fast he looked like bleached drywall. "Review? What review? There’s no review scheduled. My father’s estate is in probate handling..."
"Your father’s estate is currently under federal and state forensic audit," a second voice chimed in as Rebecca Morrison stepped out from behind the investigators, carrying her own leather portfolio. She walked past Michael without breaking stride, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood foyer floor.
I was sitting in the wingback chair by the front window, nursing a cup of black tea. I didn't stand up. I just watched my son's hands begin to shake as he dropped the stack of checks onto the console table.
"Mom," Michael choked out, turning toward me with wide, panicked eyes. "Mom, what is this? Tell them to get out of here. What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything, Michael," I said calmly, taking a slow sip of tea. "Your father always said a business is only as clean as its books. Apparently, someone forgot to balance them before he passed."
Addison came flying down the stairs, her manicured fingers clutching the neck of my cashmere sweater as if she needed physical support to stay upright. "Are you insane?!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Investigator Vance. "We have buyers lined up for the commercial lots in North Syracuse! You can't just bring people in here—this is private property!"
"Actually, Mrs. Addison Patterson," Rebecca said smoothly, opening her briefcase on the dining room table, "as of twelve minutes ago, when the emergency injunction was filed at the county courthouse, this property, along with all subsidiary holdings, is under the direct temporary receivership of the primary beneficiary."
Michael staggered back a step, hitting the edge of the grandfather clock. "Primary beneficiary? That’s us! The will from last year—"
"Was legally revoked and superseded by a codicil executed fourteen days prior to your father's death," Rebecca cut in, not even looking up from her papers. "Leaving 100 percent of voting shares, properties, and liquid accounts to Mrs. Shirley Patterson."
The silence in the room became so heavy you could hear the refrigerator humming down the hall.
David, who had just let himself in through the side garage door with Sarah trailing behind him, froze in the kitchen archway. He looked from Michael’s white face to Addison’s open-mouthed shock, and finally to me, sitting quietly by the window.
"What is she talking about, Mike?" David demanded, his voice cracking. "What did you do with the commercial line of credit last quarter?"
"Shut up, Dave!" Michael roared, his face flushing a furious, ugly purple. He lunged toward the dining table, his hands curling into fists as he glared down at Rebecca. "This is a fraud! My father was on heavy narcotics during his last month! He didn't know what he was signing! We'll break this in court before the ink is dry!"
Investigator Vance didn't even flinch. She simply pulled a small digital recorder from her coat pocket and clicked it on.
"Mr. Patterson," Vance said evenly, "I’d be very careful about accusing your late father of incompetence on an open recording, especially considering our preliminary findings regarding the missing four hundred thousand dollars from the corporate payroll account."
Michael stopped dead. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
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Across the room, Addison slowly let go of the sweater, her expression shifting from fury to pure, cold calculation as she realized the golden goose hadn't just flown away—it had locked her out of the coop.
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