Chapter 6: The Thing Victoria Hadn't Said
Sarah picked up on the first ring.
"Julian is going to Victoria," I said.
"I know.
She called me twenty minutes ago."
"She called you?"
"She's been in contact with my office since this morning," Sarah said.
"Elena, there's something Victoria didn't tell you at the coffee shop.
She wanted to tell you herself, but she wasn't ready.
She asked me to be the one to explain it."
I sat down at the kitchen table.
"Tell me."
"The second ledger isn't just financial misconduct," Sarah said.
"Some of those accounts — the ones Julian told Victoria were subsidiaries — they're not subsidiaries.
They're shell companies.
Three of them are registered in Delaware under names that don't connect to Sterling House at all.
The money moving through them isn't tax strategy.
It's closer to what the DA's office would call systematic diversion of company assets."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"How long?" I said.
"The earliest transaction Victoria found is four years old."
Four years.
Julian and I had still been going to dinner four years ago.
Still sleeping in the same room.
He had still been kissing me goodbye in the mornings.
"Does the DA's office know?" I said.
"They will by end of day," Sarah said.
"Victoria is cooperating fully.
She's prepared a formal statement.
She's turning over every file she copied." A pause.
"Elena, I need you to understand what this means.
This is no longer just a divorce filing.
This is a criminal referral."
I looked at the window above the sink.
The afternoon light was flat and grey.
"What happens to Sterling House?" I said.
"That depends on the investigation.
The company itself may be salvageable if the misconduct can be isolated to Julian's actions.
That's actually an argument in your favor — you're the original funding source, and your records are clean.
A receiver might be appointed to manage operations while the case proceeds."
"And Julian?"
Sarah was quiet for a moment.
"He's going to need a criminal defense attorney.
Not just a divorce attorney."
I set my phone on the table without ending the call and looked at the ceiling.
Nine years.
I had cooked his dinners and attended his functions and smiled at his suppliers and signed the documents he put in front of me and never once asked why the numbers sometimes didn't add up the way I expected.
I had told myself I was trusting him.
I had told myself that was what a marriage was.
I picked the phone back up.
"Sarah."
"I'm here."
"What do I need to do right now?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Let it move.
You've done your part.
The rest isn't yours to carry."
I almost believed her.
At four thirty, my doorbell rang.
I looked through the sidelight window and saw a man I didn't recognize — middle-aged, dark coat, holding a badge wallet open toward the glass.
I opened the door.
"Mrs.
Vance?" he said.
"I'm Detective Reyes, Boston PD Financial Crimes.
I was hoping you had a few minutes."
I looked at the badge.
Then at his face.
"Come in," I said.
"I'll make coffee."
He sat at the same table where Julian had been served his divorce papers less than twenty-four hours ago.
He had a notepad and a pen and the careful, unhurried manner of someone who already knew most of what he was about to ask.
"We've received a referral from your attorney's office," he said.
"And a separate statement from a Victoria Vance — no relation, I understand?"
"No relation," I said.
"We've also spoken with a Marcus Hale." He looked at his notepad.
"He was very cooperative."
"Marcus is a good man," I said.
"Julian used that against him."
Detective Reyes wrote something down.
"Mrs.
Vance, how much did you know about the shell company structure before your attorney filed this morning?"
I wrapped both hands around my coffee cup.
"I knew something was wrong," I said.
"I didn't know the full shape of it until Victoria showed me the ledger."
"When did you first suspect?"
I thought about it.
About the account statement I had found eighteen months ago that Julian explained away in forty seconds without looking up from his phone.
About the supplier name that appeared twice in the same quarter under different invoice numbers.
About the night I sat at this same table and opened a spreadsheet and stared at a column of numbers until two in the morning trying to understand why they didn't balance.
"Eighteen months ago," I said.
"Maybe longer."
He nodded slowly.
"And you started documenting."
"Yes."
"Good," Detective Reyes said.
He clicked his pen.
"That's going to matter."
Outside, a car passed on the street.
I heard it slow near the house, then continue on.
May you like
I didn't look up.
But I knew whose car it was.
