Chapter 4 - THE AUDIT
The arraignment was swift and brutal.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Sarah Jenkins presented the live audio, the 4K video footage, and the digital logs from the SCIF door assembly. Judge Margaret Vance—a no-nonsense federal judge with twenty years on the bench—listened to the evidence without expression while Paige’s attorney attempted to argue for immediate dismissal based on "family co-ownership assumptions."
"Family co-ownership?" Judge Vance echoed, her dark eyes flashing behind her half-moon glasses. "Mr. Sterling, is your client’s name on the deed of the property located at 1400 North Lynn Street?"
"No, Your Honor, but—"
"Is your client an authorized contractor, federal employee, or credentialed visitor cleared for entry into a government SCIF?"
"No, Your Honor, however—"
"Then there is zero legal basis for co-ownership assumptions," Judge Vance declared, cutting him off with a sharp rap of her gavel. "The defendant entered a locked private residence using an invalid service code, ignored explicit warnings, and attempted to forcibly enter a secure federal installation. Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars. The defendant will surrender her passport and remain under GPS home confinement."
As the bailiffs led Paige away to process her bond, Richard glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You will pay for this, Marissa," he whispered as he walked past my row. "You won't get another dime of our support. You are completely dead to us."
I sat in the empty courtroom for a long moment after they left. Arthur sat beside me, closing his briefcase.
"You okay, Marissa?" he asked gently.
"I’m better than okay, Arthur," I said, leaning back against the wooden bench. "Because now it’s time to launch phase two."
"Phase two?"
I pulled a manila folder from my leather handbag and laid it on the table. Inside were six years of bank statements, canceled checks, and wire transfers from my personal accounts to my parents' estate in Richmond.
"For ten years," I explained, "my parents told me they were using my monthly 'contributions' to pay off their property taxes, medical bills, and Paige’s educational debts. They treated me like an ATM while calling me selfish."
Arthur opened the folder, scanning the numbers. His eyebrows slowly rose. "Marissa... these transfers total over four hundred thousand dollars."
"I hired a forensic accountant two days ago," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "My father didn't use that money for taxes or medical bills. He set up a private investment trust in Paige’s name. They were funneling my income—my salary as a federal agent—directly into a secret fund to buy Paige a luxury townhouse in Charlottesville while telling me she was destitute."
Arthur let out a low whistle. "That’s grand larceny by false pretenses, wire fraud, and conversion."
"My father thought he was the master strategist," I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. "He thought he could emotionally manipulate me into funding their lives while taking everything I built. He thought I was just his meek, quiet daughter who handled paperwork."
May you like
"What do you want to do?" Arthur asked, his eyes gleaming with professional admiration.
"File a civil lawsuit for full recovery of converted funds," I commanded. "Freeze the Charlottesville trust account immediately. And send a copy of the financial audit to the Internal Revenue Service. If they want to play games with federal assets, let’s see how they handle a federal audit."
