Chapter 2 - THE FISHING TRIP
Luca returned to Chicago that afternoon.
I know because our apartment camera caught him entering at 2:17 p.m.
He walked in carrying a duffel bag.
Saw the envelope.
Stopped.
For almost thirty seconds, he didn’t touch it.
Then he opened it.
Even through silent security footage, I could see the moment he reached the vendor list.
His face changed.
He called me immediately.
I let it ring.
Then Wendy arrived.
Not limping.
Not ashamed.
Not arrested yet.
The criminal investigation into the assault had only begun.
She stormed into the apartment.
Luca showed her the paper.
She sat.
That was interesting.
Wendy Sterling rarely sat when angry.
Then she started talking fast.
No audio.
But I knew panic when I saw it.
Grace told me not to return.
“Whatever happens next, you communicate through counsel.”
“I need my work files.”
“You’ve already preserved everything inside company systems.”
“My office.”
“Someone else can retrieve personal items.”
That felt unbearable.
Walking away from work felt almost as frightening as walking away from marriage.
For years, competence had been my safe place.
But Grace was right.
If I entered Sterling Freight headquarters now, Luca could claim I tampered with records.
So I stayed away.
At 4:00 p.m., the audit committee called.
Three directors.
Outside counsel.
An independent forensic firm.
I joined remotely with Grace.
Board director Helen Mercer spoke first.
“Naomi, do you stand behind the report?”
“Yes.”
“Can you support the six-point-eight-million figure?”
“Yes.”
“Is that your estimate of total exposure?”
“No.”
Silence.
“What do you believe the full exposure may be?”
“Higher.”
“How much higher?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Then I explained the pattern.
Red Willow Procurement billed Sterling Freight for warehouse-management consulting.
No employees.
No office.
Registered agent shared an address with Wendy’s personal bookkeeper.
Northstar Facilities billed for repairs at distribution centers that facility logs showed never happened.
Merrick Transport invoiced for route optimization and fuel consulting.
Its beneficial owner was a college friend of Luca’s.
Every invoice had passed through unusual approval chains.
Many were coded just below internal thresholds requiring board-level review.
That meant someone understood our controls.
Helen asked:
“Did Luca approve them?”
“Some.”
“Wendy?”
“She was not technically an employee.”
“Then how?”
“She had informal access through Luca.”
One director muttered:
“Jesus.”
Then outside counsel spoke.
“Naomi, Luca alleges you manufactured the vendor concerns after a marital dispute.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“He also claims you had system access sufficient to create vendor profiles yourself.”
“I did.”
The directors went quiet.
I continued.
“That’s why system logs matter.”
I screen-shared.
Vendor creation.
Red Willow.
Created 8:43 p.m.
Two years earlier.
User:
JSTERLING-ADMIN.
Luca’s credentials.
Northstar:
Same.
Merrick:
Created by corporate controller Peter Sloan.
Then edited twelve minutes later under Luca’s account.
“There’s more.”
I showed authentication metadata.
Several suspicious approvals originated from Luca’s home IP address.
Others from Wendy’s estate.
One approval came from his phone during our anniversary dinner.
I remembered that evening.
He spent fifteen minutes “answering a client.”
Apparently the client was fraud.
Helen asked:
“Why didn’t you report this sooner?”
“I began formal review six months ago.”
“Six months?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I reported preliminary concerns to the CFO.”
“What happened?”
“He told me to coordinate with Luca.”
The CFO was Luca’s uncle, Daniel Sterling.
Another family member.
Of course.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did Luca say?”
I swallowed.
“That I was seeing fraud because forensic accountants need fraud to justify their jobs.”
Silence.
Then:
“He told me family businesses required discretion.”
Outside counsel asked:
“Do you have that in writing?”
“Yes.”
That was the useful thing about executives who believed their wives wouldn’t leave.
They got careless.
I had emails.
Messages.
Meeting notes.
Everything preserved through company systems.
The board suspended Luca’s financial approval authority that evening.
Wendy received a legal demand to preserve records.
CFO Daniel Sterling was placed on administrative leave.
Then Luca finally left me a voicemail.
I listened once.
“Naomi, I know you’re upset.”
Upset.
“Mom shouldn’t have put her hands on you.”
Progress.
“But you are destroying a company that employs eight hundred people because of one family fight.”
There it was.
Responsibility transferred.
Again.
Then:
“Come home. We can fix this privately.”
I deleted the voicemail only after Grace saved a copy.
That night, Detective Ana Ruiz called regarding Wendy.
“Mrs. Parker, your mother-in-law says you initiated the physical altercation.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course she does.”
“She claims you threatened her over financial matters.”
“No.”
“Do you have injuries from before that evening?”
“No.”
“Any witnesses?”
“No.”
Then I remembered.
The kitchen.
Not camera coverage.
But the hallway camera recorded audio when motion-activated.
I told Detective Ruiz.
The next morning, police requested the footage.
It did not capture the entire assault.
But it captured Wendy’s voice before entering the kitchen:
“You think changing that password stops us?”
Then later:
“Look what you made me do.”
And me crying:
“Don’t touch me again.”
Not perfect.
Enough to matter.
Then Grace called with another development.
“Luca filed a financial affidavit in the divorce.”
“So?”
“He says the marital estate contains approximately $310,000.”
“That sounds close.”
“Naomi…”
Her tone changed.
“He omitted an account.”
“What account?”
“Cayman brokerage account.”
I sat upright.
“How much?”
“About $2.1 million.”
I stared.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“We know.”
“Whose name?”
“Luca’s.”
“Where did the money come from?”
Grace was quiet.
Then:
“Several deposits trace back to the same shell vendors you flagged.”
My marriage was no longer merely adjacent to the fraud.
May you like
The fraud had been helping fund my husband’s private wealth.
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