Chapter 3 - The Financial Audit and the Hidden Accounts**
The digital clock on the administrative computer terminal read 4:15 AM as I sat in a secluded corner of the hospital’s basement financial audit department. Thanks to my close friendship with the hospital’s chief financial administrator—a favor I cashed in with a single confidential phone call—I had secure, unrestricted access to a high-speed financial tracking database used for executive asset verification.
When Dominic and I married five years ago, we had signed a joint matrimonial property agreement, but over the last three years, Dominic had insisted on managing our primary investment portfolios independently under the guise of "maximizing our tax returns." Blinded by trust and exhaustion from endless hospital shifts, I had signed whatever papers he placed in front of me without reading the fine print.
Now, with the encrypted decryption keys provided by my administrative contact, the truth unrolled across the dual computer monitors in glowing, undeniable numbers.
I scrolled through offshore accounts, high-yield corporate portfolios, and commercial real estate holdings registered under a shell corporation named V&D Holdings—an obvious, arrogant acronym combining Vivienne and Dominic’s initials.
My breath hitched as I clicked open the primary corporate ledger.
Dominic wasn't just a mid-level architectural consultant earning a modest salary, as he had claimed for years. Over the past four years, he had systematically drained our joint savings, leveraged our primary residential home mortgage to its absolute maximum limit, and funneled over two million dollars into private accounts controlled exclusively by Vivienne and a series of anonymous LLCs tied to Giselle’s wealthy family.
Worse still, I discovered a series of certified legal documents dated just three weeks prior: a fraudulent, pre-signed quitclaim deed for our family home, bearing a notary stamp and a signature that bore an uncanny, terrifying resemblance to my own handwriting.
They hadn't just planned to ease me out of the picture. They had systematically forged my signature to strip me of our home, our assets, and my legal standing, leaving me financially ruined while they walked away with millions in real estate development capital tied to the Stanford family trust.
“Playing dirty, are we?” I murmured aloud, the glow of the monitors reflecting off my cold, unblinking eyes.
I didn't panic. Panic was for people who didn't understand chess. I immediately pulled out my personal flash drive, downloaded every single encrypted transaction log, bank statement, email correspondence, and forged notary document, and secured them in three separate cloud vaults.
Next, I dialed Marcus Vance, one of the most ruthless, high-priced corporate and family law attorneys in downtown Montreal. It was 4:30 in the morning, but Marcus picked up on the second ring, his voice sharp and alert.
“Dr. Bouchard? This better be an emergency if you’re calling me at this hour,” Marcus rasped, clearing his throat.
“It’s an emergency, Marcus, but not a medical one,” I said, my voice as steady as steel. “I need you to initiate an emergency freezing order on all personal, corporate, and trust accounts associated with Dominic Tremblay and Vivienne Tremblay, effective immediately as of sunrise.”
There was a brief pause on the line as Marcus instantly shifted into professional gear. “Grounds for emergency asset freeze?”
“Spousal abandonment, large-scale financial fraud, grand larceny, and document forgery exceeding two million dollars, backed by digital audit logs currently sitting on my flash drive.”
Marcus let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Well, well. Someone woke up and chose absolute devastation. Send me the files immediately, Camille. By 9:00 AM when the superior court opens, I’ll have judges signing freeze orders before your husband even wakes up from his post-op anesthesia.”
“Make sure the freeze extends to any corporate entities linked to the Stanford real estate group as well,” I added, thinking of Giselle’s wealthy family. “I want every single penny they tried to steal locked down so tightly not even a federal auditor can crack it.”
“Consider it done,” Marcus replied smoothly. “Get some rest, Doctor. The real war starts when the sun comes up.”
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I ejected the flash drive, slipped it safely into the inner pocket of my lab coat, and logged out of the terminal. As I walked out of the basement into the chill of the early morning air, the storm outside had finally cleared, leaving behind slick, reflective streets bathed in the golden light of dawn. Dominic was still lying unconscious in the ICU, blissfully unaware that while his body was recovering from a car crash, his entire financial empire had just been sentenced to execution.
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