Disowned by my parents for my military service, they tried to steal my inheritance, but I found their financial sabotage.
The next morning, I practiced my lines in front of the mirror, honing my voice to sound casual, just curious, devoid of the simmering anger I felt. I needed Arthur Finch to relax, to drop his guard. He was a creature of habit and comfort, and I knew how to exploit that.
I dialed his office number, letting it ring twice before a receptionist picked up.
“Arthur Finch’s office, how may I help you?” she chirped.
“Elena Reyes, for Arthur, please,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Just a quick question about my grandfather’s estate. Nothing urgent, but I’d like to catch him before his schedule fills up.”
A moment later, Arthur’s smooth, practiced voice came over the line. “Elena? My dear, so sorry for your loss. Manuel was a wonderful man. What can I do for you?” His voice was perfectly professional, almost unctuous. Too perfect.
“Arthur, thank you,” I replied, forcing a lightness into my tone. “I’m just going through some of Grandpa Manuel’s final expenses for tax purposes. You know how thorough he was. Everything needs to be categorized perfectly.” I paused, letting the implication of his own meticulousness hang in the air. “I came across these rather significant ‘consulting fees’ paid out to a company called Valiant Holdings. Just wondering what they were for. My records are a bit vague.”
A beat of silence stretched, longer than it should have been. I heard a subtle shift, a rustle of papers perhaps, on his end.
“Ah, Valiant Holdings,” Arthur finally said, his voice losing some of its earlier smoothness, a faint tremor now noticeable. “Yes, well, Manuel was always looking to diversify, you know? Keeping up with the times.”
“Diversify into what, exactly?” I pressed gently, my tone still innocent. “The amounts are quite substantial, Arthur. $150,000 in six months? And to a company with no public presence? I can’t seem to find any of their…consulting work.”
He cleared his throat, a nervous, dry sound. “Manuel preferred discretion. These were… specialized investments. Confidential. For his privacy.”
“Privacy, from whom?” I asked, a hint of steel entering my voice, testing him. “His only living relatives? Or from his own good sense?”
The line went completely silent again. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the rapid calculation of risk and exposure.
“Look, Elena,” he stammered, his facade beginning to crack, “these arrangements were made directly with Manuel. At his instruction.”
“Really, Arthur?” I challenged, my patience thinning. “Because I seem to recall my mother, Janice, mentioning something about ‘setting up new accounts’ for Grandpa Manuel a while back. Something about ‘streamlining his finances.’ Was this related?”
His breath hitched. I heard a small, involuntary gasp, quickly stifled. It was a tell. A definite, undeniable tell.
“Janice… Mrs. Reyes…” he fumbled, backpedaling clumsily. “Yes, she… she did inquire about structuring some… diversified investments. For Manuel’s long-term benefit. It was her suggestion to set up Valiant Holdings. For… for privacy, you see. To manage his portfolio outside of the main estate. She said Manuel was keen on exploring new avenues.”
He quickly added, “But Manuel signed all the papers. He was completely lucid. Everything was above board.” The defensiveness in his voice was palpable, a desperate attempt to cover his tracks even as he revealed the truth. Janice had instructed him. She had orchestrated it.
“So Janice instructed you to create a shell company to funnel my grandfather’s money into ‘diversified investments’ that nobody can trace?” I asked, my voice flat, leaving no room for his evasions. “And you, his long-time accountant, just went along with it? For his ‘privacy’?”
“I… I followed client instructions,” he insisted, his voice now a strained whisper. “Everything was signed. Legal. I assure you.”
“Did Manuel know these were ‘consulting fees’ to a company set up by my mother?” I shot back, knowing the answer.
He didn’t reply directly. “I’m very busy, Elena. I’ll have to call you back about this. I’m afraid I have another call coming through.” The line clicked, abruptly dead. He had hung up on me.
My hand clenched around the phone. He was scared. He knew. And now, I knew. Arthur Finch was not just an unwitting pawn; he was a willing participant, twisting the rules, setting up a bogus company at Janice’s behest to systematically drain Manuel’s assets. The betrayal cut deeper than I thought possible. My parents didn’t just change a will; they actively stole from a dying man. And Arthur Finch was their corrupt enabler. The next step was to expose the true owner of Valiant Holdings. I had a feeling Arthur hadn’t been entirely honest about “privacy.”
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