Chapter 4 - The Paper Trail Trap
The room seemed to spin around Abigail. She almost dropped her tea, setting it down with a sharp clatter on the wooden side table.
"Me? No! That’s impossible!" Abigail gasped, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "I don't even have a credit card! Eleanor kept my ID, my social security card, my marriage certificate—she told me I wasn't responsible enough to manage money! I haven't touched a dollar in six years!"
Adrian stood up immediately and walked over, kneeling beside her chair just as he had done for her daughters earlier. He reached out and gently covered her trembling hands with his own.
"I know," he said softly, his voice an anchor in her storm of panic. "I know you didn't do this, Abigail. Take a breath. Look at me."
She looked into his steady gray eyes, finding an unexpected reservoir of strength there.
"Eleanor set you up," Adrian explained calmly. "She built a paper trail designed to make you look like a greedy, embittered daughter-in-law stealing from a charity out of spite. If the authorities ever audited the fund, Eleanor would play the victim, and you would go to prison for tax fraud and grand larceny while she kept the money."
"She wanted to take my children," Abigail whispered, realizing the horrific depth of Eleanor’s cruelty. "If I went to prison, she would get custody of Tess, Sadie, and Nora. She would use them for publicity, just like she used me!"
"She won't get anywhere near them," Adrian promised firmly. "I’ve already called my personal legal counsel. Arthur Vance, the best defense and financial attorney in the state, is on his way here right now."
Within two hours, Arthur Vance—a silver-haired man with sharp eyes and a briefcase full of legal documents—arrived at the estate. He sat down with Adrian and Abigail in the library, laying out reams of bank statements and corporate registries.
"Here’s what we have," Arthur said, tapping a red pen against a document. "A offshore account in the Cayman Islands was opened five years ago using Abigail’s maiden name and stolen social security number. Over three million dollars from the Voss Outreach Fund has been funneled into it."
"How did she open it without me being there?" Abigail asked, bewildered.
"A forged power of attorney signature," Arthur replied grimly. "And a crooked notary public who happens to sit on the board of Eleanor’s charity. But Eleanor made one fatal mistake."
Adrian leaned forward. "What mistake?"
"She was greedy," Arthur said with a cold smile. "She didn't just steal from the charity. She also hid the payout from Thomas Mercer’s commercial life insurance policy."
Abigail froze. "Thomas had life insurance?"
"A two-million-dollar policy through his engineering firm," Arthur revealed. "When Thomas died in that highway accident six years ago, the check was issued. Eleanor intercepted it, forged your signature as the beneficiary, and used those funds to seed the very offshore account she’s now using to frame you."
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Abigail covered her mouth, a sob escaping her throat. Her late husband hadn't left them penniless. He had tried to protect them. He had made sure his wife and baby daughters would be cared for, but Eleanor had stolen their future and forced them to live like dogs beside industrial washing machines.
"She didn't just steal your money, Abigail," Adrian said softly, his jaw set in iron determination. "She stole six years of your life. And starting tonight, we are going to take every single piece of it back."
