Chapter 3 - The Forensic Execution
Randy tried to regain his composure,
straightening his tie,
his eyes flickering with the desperate need to lie his way out of the room.
"This is a misunderstanding,
sir,"
he said,
looking at my father,
"Joanna fell in the bathroom,
I tried to help her,
but she's been so unstable lately..."
My father stood up then,
and Randy actually flinched,
backing into the wall.
"Sit down,
Randy,"
my father commanded,
"and don't speak another word unless you want me to forget I'm a man of the law."
I walked over to the dining table and laid out the manila folders I had prepared.
The "Tax Receipts" folder was now open,
exposing the dark heart of their greed.
"I'm a forensic accountant,
Randy,"
I said,
my voice steady despite the pain in my chest.
"I trace money for a living."
"I find the things people think are buried forever."
I pulled out a document and slid it across the table toward him.
"This is the loan application you filed using my social security number,"
"claiming I had authorized a three-hundred-thousand-dollar mortgage on this house."
"And this,"
I said,
sliding another paper,
"is the wire transfer to your mother's account to pay off her gambling debts."
Eden’s face went white,
her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"And finally,"
I said,
opening my laptop and pressing play on the security footage Randy thought he had deleted.
The room was filled with the sound of his voice from the night before,
the sickening thud of his fist hitting my jaw,
and my own muffled cries for him to stop.
It was followed by the audio of him and Eden laughing this morning,
discussing how they would use the makeup to hide the evidence of his crime.
"The makeup bag covers purple,
Randy,"
I said,
quoting his own words back to him,
"but it doesn't cover federal fraud."
"It doesn't cover assault and battery."
"And it certainly doesn't cover the fact that my father has already alerted the district attorney's office."
Randy looked at the screen,
then at my father,
and finally at me,
realizing that his life as he knew it was over.
He had tried to steal my home,
my paycheck,
and my voice,
but he had only succeeded in providing me with the evidence I needed to bury him.
"I want you out of my house,"
May you like
I whispered,
"but not before the police arrive."
