Chapter 5 - The Final Audit
The room was silent,
Except for the hum of the projector.
David looked like he was going to vomit.
Jessica,
Or Monica,
Recovered her composure with a terrifying speed.
"You think this matters?" she spat.
"The loan is already processed.
The house is collateral.
If you call the police,
The bank seizes the property anyway.
You’ll be homeless by tomorrow morning."
I smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
It was the smile of a man who had planned three steps ahead.
"The bank didn't issue the loan, Jessica," I said.
"I did."
She blinked,
Confused.
"What?"
"I saw the application the moment it hit the system," I explained.
"I have alerts on my credit for a reason.
I didn't block it.
I intercepted it.
I used a private lending group I control,
To buy the debt from the bank before they could even approve it.
I am the lender.
I am the creditor.
And I am calling in the debt.
In full.
Right now."
I looked at David.
"You signed as the guarantor, David.
You are personally liable for two million dollars.
Which I know you don't have."
David fell into a chair,
Burying his head in his hands.
"Dad... please..."
"Don't 'Dad' me," I said.
"You sat there while she put a dog bowl in front of me.
You watched her treat your mother’s memory like a joke.
You were willing to let me die in a warehouse,
Just to pay off your debts."
The front door burst open.
Miller arrived,
Accompanied by two men in dark windbreakers.
"FBI," one of them said.
"Monica Graves,
You are under arrest for interstate wire fraud,
Identity theft,
And conspiracy."
Jessica tried to run,
But Miller was faster.
He blocked the exit to the kitchen.
The "Grey Suit," Dr. Sterling,
Tried to slip out the back,
But Harold grabbed his arm.
"Not so fast, Marcus," Harold said.
"I think the Bar Association is going to want a word with you."
As they were being handcuffed,
I walked over to the dining table.
I picked up the dog bowl.
I walked over to Jessica.
I held it out to her.
"You forgot something," I said.
She glared at me,
Her face a mask of pure hatred.
"I'll be out in five years," she hissed.
"And I'll come back for everything."
"In five years," I said calmly,
"I'll still be an accountant.
And you'll still be a rounding error."
They were led out of the house.
The guests from the night before were gone.
The noise was gone.
The house was mine again.
David was the last to go.
The agents let him stay for a moment.
"What happens to me?" he asked,
His voice a pathetic whimper.
"You're going to tell them everything," I said.
"Every detail of what she did.
Every cent you spent.
Maybe the judge will be lenient.
Maybe not."
"I'm your son," he whispered.
"My son died when Eleanor did," I said.
"You're just a man I used to know."
He was led away in tears.
The Three Riders stayed for a while.
We finished the scotch.
We talked about the old days.
We talked about Eleanor.
When they finally left,
I was alone in the house.
I went into the kitchen.
I washed the dog bowl with hot,
Soapy water.
I dried it carefully.
I walked out to the garage,
And I put it in the trash bin.
I went back inside.
I went to the living room,
And sat in my favorite chair.
I looked at the lemon ricotta cake on the counter.
I cut myself a small slice.
I took a bite.
It was delicious.
The house was quiet.
The 36-hour clock had stopped.
The audit was complete.
I closed my eyes,
And for the first time in nine years,
I felt like I could finally sleep,
Knowing the ledger was perfectly balanced.
I was seventy years old.
I was alone.
And I had never been more at peace.
The house was still.
The ghosts were gone.
And the truth remained.
One line at a time.
May you like
One cent at a time.
The end.
