Chapter 6 - THE AUDIT OF VANCE CAPITAL
By Monday morning, the public fallout from the driveway broadcast had completely obliterated Caden’s social and financial standing.
The video footage captured by the news reporters had gone viral across local media platforms, generating millions of views. The name "Caden Vance" became synonymous with domestic exploitation and corporate fraud in Phoenix.
At nine o'clock, I sat in Eleanor Vance's legal office overlooking the city skyline.
"The criminal complaints have officially bounced from the state level to the federal level, Taylor," Eleanor said, sliding a thick blue binder across the glass table. "The IRS Criminal Investigation Division executed a search warrant on Vance Capital’s office building downtown at six o'clock this morning."
I opened the binder, reading through the preliminary audit summary.
"What did they find?"
"Worse than we thought," Eleanor said, leaning back in her leather chair. "Caden wasn't just dodging taxes. He was running a classic Ponzi-style fee structure. He was taking investment capital from elderly retirees in Prescott—ironically, people from your mother's hometown—promising them eight percent guaranteed returns, and using their money to pay off his personal credit card debts and fund his mother’s luxury shopping sprees."
I felt a cold flash of anger. "He was scamming people from my mother's town?"
"Yes. Total fraud liability currently stands at two point six million dollars," Eleanor reported. "The Department of Justice has placed him on a flight restriction list. His passport has been revoked."
My phone buzzed on the table.
It was a text message from a unknown number.
I opened it. It was a photo of a hand-written letter sent by Bonnie from her motel room:
Taylor, please. Have mercy on my son. He is sick with worry. He made mistakes, but he is Donovan’s father. If you withdraw the tax complaints, we will sign whatever divorce papers you want. We will leave Arizona forever. Please, Taylor, don't let them send my boy to prison.
I stared at the screen for a long moment.
I remembered how she had stood in my kitchen, popping grapes into her mouth, telling me that a country woman was born to serve. I remembered how she had kicked my mother’s dignity into the dirt.
I typed a single sentence back:
He should have thought about his freedom before he treated my mother like a slave.
I blocked the number.
"Eleanor," I said, looking up from my phone. "Push the divorce finalization forward. I want full, sole legal and physical custody of Donovan with zero visitation rights for Caden until he completes a court-ordered psychological evaluation and satisfies all state restitution demands."
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"It’s already in front of Judge Miller," Eleanor nodded. "Given the video evidence of child endangerment in the kitchen, Caden won't get within five hundred feet of Donovan without a court officer present."
"Good," I said, closing the binder. "Now let's talk about the farm."
