Chapter 2 - The Audit of the Golden Boy**
The absolute silence in the study was so thick you could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway like a time bomb.
Attorney Samuel Price walked with measured, deliberate steps across the Persian rug, his silver hair catching the amber light of the desk lamp. He didn't look at Julian or Serena; his eyes were fixed entirely on me, carrying a quiet expression of profound respect and sorrow.
“Good afternoon, family,” Mr. Price said, his baritone voice filling the room. He turned to the two bank investigators. “Gentlemen, please set your equipment up on the mahogany table. We have a complete forensic accounting record to verify.”
Julian snapped out of his trance, his face draining of all color until he looked like a corpse. He lunged forward, slamming his palms down onto the surface of the desk.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Julian shouted, spattering tiny drops of saliva onto the polished wood. “This is a private family estate! Elena has no right to bring outside auditors into our home! Sam, you’ve known me since I was ten years old—tell these clowns to get out before I call the police and have them thrown off the property!”
Mr. Price stopped, turning his gaze slowly toward my brother. A thin, humorless smile touched the corners of the attorney’s mouth. ရှင်
“Your father retained my firm for forty years, Julian,” Mr. Price said quietly. “And during the final six months of his life, he gave me very explicit, legally binding instructions regarding the contents of this safe and the financial activities of this household.”
Mr. Price reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of stapled documents, and laid them neatly across the desk.
“Julian Vance,” the attorney continued, his tone turning razor-sharp. “As of eleven o'clock this morning, following the filing of your father’s death certificate, a comprehensive freeze was placed on every corporate and personal account linked to the Vance family trust.”
Serena gasped, clutching her diamond bracelet as if it might suddenly turn to glass. “Freeze? What do you mean freeze?! We have bills to pay! We have payroll coming up at Julian’s firm!”
“Julian’s firm,” Mr. Price repeated, picking up one of the manila folders from the safe and sliding it across the table toward the bank investigators. “You mean the consulting agency he registered under a shell corporation in Delaware using forged corporate signatures?”
Julian staggered backward, his knees knocking against the edge of a velvet armchair. “That’s... that’s a lie. You can't prove—those are routine commercial transactions!”
“Routine?” I spoke up for the first time, my voice steady, cold, and echoing clearly off the walls. I stepped forward, holding up the yellow legal paper I had retrieved from the safe. “Is it routine, Julian, to systematically drain four point two million dollars from Dad’s retirement accounts over a span of fourteen months while he was incapacitated in a hospital bed?”
The room erupted into absolute pandemonium.
Aunt Sarah screamed, clutching her chest. Uncle Raymond stepped back as if I were holding a live grenade. Relatives began shouting over one another, pointing accusing fingers, their unified front of blind familial loyalty shattering into a thousand terrified shards of self-preservation.
Julian’s face twisted into an ugly, desperate mask of denial. He pointed a trembling finger directly at my face, tears of pure rage springing to his eyes.
“She forged those documents!” Julian shrieked, his voice cracking hysterically. “Dad didn't know anything about this! She hacked his computer! She’s a thief trying to steal my birthright because she’s jealous that Dad always loved me best!”
I didn't yell back. I didn't cry. I simply walked over to the desk, unfolded the yellow legal paper, and laid it flat under the desk lamp.
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“Dad didn't hack anything, Julian,” I said softly. “Read the signature.”
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