Chapter 6 - The Independent Auditor
Six months later, the autumn leaves in Charlotte were turning a brilliant shade of amber and gold.
The transition wasn’t easy, but healing never is. There were days of quiet reflection, long runs through the park, and endless meetings with federal prosecutors and bankruptcy judges as the sprawling wreckage of Wade Development was systematically dismantled and liquidated.
Preston Wade’s trial was scheduled for early spring. Legal experts predicted he wouldn't see daylight outside a federal correctional facility for at least five to seven years, especially given that Gerald Sinclair’s defense team had aggressively thrown Preston under the bus to protect the Sinclair Capital parent portfolio.
As for Bri Sinclair, she had quietly moved to Atlanta, her social standing in Charlotte permanently scorched by the scandal.
And me?
I had officially launched my own independent forensic accounting firm: *Worthy & Associates Forensic Auditing*.
My first major corporate client—a Fortune 500 tech firm based in Raleigh—had hired my three-person team to conduct an enterprise-wide risk assessment. Business was booming. Word had gotten around about the quiet accountant who had single-handedly brought down one of the most corrupt real estate scams in the state without raising her voice once.
On a crisp Friday afternoon, I was sitting at a corner table in my favorite downtown café—the very same one where Preston had tried to bully me six months ago—reviewing a preliminary audit report on my tablet.
“Is this seat taken?”
I looked up, startled.
Standing beside the table was a tall, broad-shouldered man with warm hazel eyes and a kind, easy smile. He was wearing a sharp navy blazer and holding a briefcase in one hand and a takeaway coffee cup in the other.
“Marcus?” I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face.
Marcus Vance had been one of the senior federal investigators assigned to the Wade Development case. We had spent countless hours cross-referencing bank statements, wire transfers, and corporate shell companies together over the past half-year.
“Mind if I join you for ten minutes?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair opposite me.
“Not at all,” I said, closing my tablet and setting it aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Did the DOJ finally wrap up the final asset liquidation?”
Marcus sat down, chuckling softly as he took a sip of his coffee. “Actually, yes. Everything is wrapped up, sealed, and filed. Preston and Gerald’s legal teams stopped fighting the inevitable weeks ago.” He paused, looking at me with a warmth that went well beyond professional courtesy. “I just finished a final debrief with the director, and I realized I had a free afternoon. I was hoping I might finally take you up on that dinner offer we talked about months ago.”
My heart did a small, fluttering somersault—not of fear or anxiety, but of anticipation.
“Is that so?” I asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. “And here I thought you only asked out women who could produce a twenty-page forensic breakdown of illegal shell companies.”
Marcus laughed out loud, a rich, genuine sound that drew the brief attention of the barista behind the counter.
“Well,” he said, leaning back in his chair and meeting my eyes with a steady, admiring gaze. “It definitely helps to know she can handle herself in a crisis. But honestly? I’d just love to take out a brilliant, independent woman who knows how to balance more than just books.”
May you like
I picked up my coffee cup, feeling a wonderful, unfamiliar warmth settling deep into my chest.
“Well, Detective Vance,” I said, smiling brightly as the autumn sun streamed through the café window, illuminating a future that was entirely my own. “If you’re buying, I’d say that sounds like a very sound investment.”
