Chapter 5 - The Discovery of the Fraud
In the corporate war room, the forensic audit had reached its critical phase.
I sat before the main terminal, my fingers moving across the keyboard as I unlocked the hidden data directories Andrew had tried to delete from the Escalante Group’s primary mainframe three days prior. Beside me, Arthur Pendelton was compiling the formal criminal referral for the state's attorney.
"He was sloppy, Mariana," Arthur said, shaking his head as a stream of shell company transactions appeared on the screen. "He didn't just buy the penthouse for the mistress. He’s been systematically over-invoicing the construction materials for the new municipal harbor project we backed last year. He was kicking back nearly 15% of the state development funds into a private account in the Cayman Islands under Brenda Lin’s maiden name."
"He thought the state auditors wouldn't check the bathymetric data," I said, my eyes tracking the serial numbers of the fraudulent bills of lading. "He thought that because the Escalante name was on the harbor gates, the regulators would just trust the paperwork. He had no idea that I was the one who personally answered the compliance inquiries from the Department of Transportation last winter to keep his company from being blacklisted."
"Why did you do it back then?" my father asked from the corner of the room, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of concern and intellectual curiosity. "Why save a man who treated you like an intruder in his own home?"
"Because I wanted to see how far his arrogance would take him, Father," I said, turning to look at him. "I wanted him to build his tower so high that when the foundation was pulled, there would be absolutely nothing left to salvage. If I had let him fail four years ago, he would have blamed the market. He would have blamed his father’s legacy. He would have played the tragic victim of circumstances."
I pointed to the flashing numbers on the screen. "But tonight, he can't blame anyone but himself. He signed every single one of these fraudulent invoices with his own digital key. He stood in his own ballroom, surrounded by his own choices, and he struck the only person who was keeping him out of a federal penitentiary."
My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't a call. It was a video message forwarded by one of the kitchen staff who had remained loyal to me—a young woman named Sofia whose mother’s medical bills I had secretly paid through our foundation last summer.
I tapped the screen. The video showed the grand foyer of the mansion. Andrew was on his knees next to Marcus’s laptop, his hair disheveled, his voice a pathetic, high-pitched screech as he argued with Clara Croft’s asset extraction team. Beside him, Margaret was frantically trying to stuff small silver candleholders and old portrait frames into a designer leather suitcase, her aristocratic poise completely degraded into the cheap desperation of a thief caught in the night.
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"Look at them," I murmured, passing the phone to my father. "They spent four years telling me that you can't hide poverty beneath expensive clothes. They were right. But they forgot that you also can't hide a criminal behind an old family name."
"The state’s attorney has just signed the emergency arrest warrants, Miss Mariana," Arthur Pendelton announced, standing up and buttoning his coat. "The grand jury presentation is scheduled for 9:00 AM. By the time the stock market opens, Andrew Escalante won't be looking for a bank loan. He’ll be looking for a bondsman who accepts collateral that doesn't exist."
