Chapter 6 - Digital Footprints
At 9:00 PM, my team was still assembled in Asterline’s primary conference room. Takeout containers sat half-eaten on the sideboard, but nobody was eating. Marcus Cole had four separate laptops networked together, running automated scripts against public procurement databases.
Julian Vance sat at the head of the conference table, his suit jacket draped over his chair, reviewing a stack of sworn declarations.
"We have enough to file criminal referrals with both the State Attorney General and the postal inspector right now," Julian said, tapping his gold pen against a sworn affidavit. "The forged contract was transmitted via interstate electronic communications. That’s federal wire fraud, Daphne. Bradley Hayes is looking at ten to twenty years. And Marjorie..."
Julian paused, looking at me with genuine sorrow. "Marjorie is an accessory before the fact. She signed the estate transfer knowing she didn't have co-executor approval."
"Wait," Marcus called out from his terminal, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. "Look at this. Everyone look at screen three."
We crowded behind Marcus’s chair.
On the large wall monitor, an organizational chart unfolded. Vanguard Horizon LLC had received the seventy-four thousand dollars from my father's estate, yes. But Marcus had just breached the secondary shell accounts linked to Bradley’s Charlotte routing number.
"The seventy-four thousand didn't go to the Metropolitan Civic Foundation’s primary escrow," Marcus explained, highlighting a wire transfer receipt. "Bradley moved thirty thousand dollars into the foundation’s public donation portal to secure the preliminary award nomination. But the remaining forty-four thousand? He wired it forty-eight hours ago to a private yacht charter brokerage in Miami."
I stared at the screen. "A yacht charter?"
"Look at the passenger manifest," Marcus clicked a subfolder. "Bradley Sterling-Hayes and a guest named Chloe Bennett. Date of departure: Sunday morning. The day after the gala."
Julian let out a low whistle. "He never intended to stay for the five-hundred-thousand-dollar grant payout. The moment the gala ended and Asterline’s ninety-six-thousand-dollar check cleared into the foundation, Bradley was taking the remaining cash and skipping the country."
"And who is Chloe Bennett?" I asked, my blood running cold.
Marcus tapped a key, pulling up a social media profile. "She’s a luxury real estate broker in Miami. And according to her Instagram geotags, she and Bradley have been spending alternate weekends together in South Beach for the last eight months."
I leaned against the back of Marcus’s chair, stunned by the sheer, unadulterated depravity of the scheme.
Bradley was using my mother’s vanity and Whitney’s desperate need for social prestige to fund his escape with another woman. Whitney wasn't his future wife; she was his mark. And Marjorie wasn't his partner; she was his dupe.
"If Asterline had wired that ninety-six thousand dollars," I said, the realization settling heavily over me, "Bradley would have used his power-of-attorney status over Vanguard Horizon to redirect the municipal match funds directly into an offshore account in the Caymans. By Sunday noon, he’d be in international waters, and Whitney and Marjorie would be left holding the bag for a multi-hundred-thousand-dollar municipal fraud."
"And your company's name would be permanently stained as the corporate sponsor that underwrote a criminal syndicate," Julian added grimly. "Daphne, we cannot wait until tomorrow night. We have to call the police right now."
"No," I said firmly.
Julian frowned. "Daphne, this is reckless. He's planning to flee on Sunday."
"The yacht doesn't leave until Sunday morning," I replied, my eyes fixed on Bradley's smug photograph on the screen. "If we arrest him tonight in his hotel room, he posts bail or destroys the offshore transfer keys before the forensic accountants can freeze the accounts. The forty-four thousand in Miami will be gone forever, and my father's estate will take years to recover through civil litigation."
"What are you proposing?" Marcus asked, a faint, dangerous grin touching the corners of his mouth.
"Bradley needs that ninety-six thousand dollars to trigger the release of the municipal grant escrow tomorrow night," I said. "He thinks he still has leverage over me because he thinks I care about Marjorie’s public standing. Let him think the wire is coming."
"And when it doesn't?" Julian asked.
May you like
"Asterline Audit will make our presentation at the podium," I said. "In front of the mayor, the city council, the entire civic board, and every donor who ever treated my father with respect. We will audit Bradley Sterling-Hayes in real time."
***
