Chapter 3 - The Apartment I Was Supposed to Be Living InThe county records office confirmed my suspicion.
Whittaker Senior Living Services LLC owned one property.
A luxury condominium twenty minutes from downtown.
Jared stared at the address.
“That looks familiar.”
“Why?”
“I've seen it in Lauren's photos.”
I looked at him.
“Of you?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He swallowed.
“Her mother.”
We sat in silence.
The property had been purchased eleven months earlier.
Exactly one month before the first $8,000 payment.
The purchase price was $720,000.
The money trail showed that the down payment came from an account connected to the same company receiving Jared's monthly transfers.
I looked at Jared.
“She bought her mother a condo with money meant for me.”
His face went white.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That can't be legal.”
“No.”
I closed the file.
“And we're not finished.”
We went to the property.
A woman answered the door.
Lauren's mother.
She looked surprised.
Then frightened.
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
She stepped backward.
“What are you doing here?”
I looked around the luxurious apartment.
Marble floors.
Designer furniture.
Fresh flowers.
A refrigerator filled with food.
Then I looked at Jared.
His eyes were wet.
He whispered:
“Mom, who paid for this?”
She said nothing.
“Mom.”
She finally whispered:
“Lauren.”
“With what money?”
She looked at me.
“I don't know.”
I almost laughed.
“That's not true.”
She lowered her eyes.
“You should leave.”
Jared stepped forward.
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“Not until you tell me.”
She began crying.
“Lauren said it was temporary.”
“What was temporary?”
“The money.”
I stared at her.
“How much did you know?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't know it was from Richard.”
That sentence was important.
I remembered it.
Every word.
Then she said:
“Lauren told me your father was wealthy.”
I smiled bitterly.
“I wasn't.”
“She said you had investments.”
“I did.”
“Then she said you were senile.”
Jared's face hardened.
“She said that?”
His mother nodded.
“She said Richard wouldn't remember what happened.”
The room became silent.
I felt something inside me go cold.
This wasn't just financial theft.
Lauren had built an entire narrative around my supposed incompetence.
She had expected me to disappear quietly.
But she had forgotten one thing.
Auditors don't disappear.
They leave trails.
That night, I called an old colleague.
His name was Martin Hale.
We hadn't spoken in years.
When I explained what was happening, he said:
“Send me everything.”
I did.
The next morning, Martin called.
“Richard.”
“What?”
“You're looking at a structured diversion.”
I sat down.
“Explain.”
“Money comes from Jared.”
“Right.”
“Then it enters an LLC.”
“Yes.”
“Then it exits through legitimate-looking expenses.”
“Exactly.”
“And the final recipients are connected to Lauren.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much?”
Martin hesitated.
“Approximately $312,000.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“That's what I've found so far.”
I looked at Jared.
He was sitting across from me.
“Three hundred twelve thousand dollars?”
Martin said:
“And Richard?”
“Yes?”
“This wasn't improvised.”
“What do you mean?”
“The transfers are too consistent.”
May you like
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Someone planned this.”
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