The judge yawned as Kat finished her testimony. Bad sign. Financial analysis was often the difference between financial windfall and complete financial ruin in high-profile divorces. As a forensic accountant, she knew it was always a numbers game. High stakes were decided by the stroke of the judge’s pen. In this case, a bored judge.
No matter how often Kat provided expert testimony, she always got nervous. And felt personally responsible if things went sideways for her client. Zachary Barron’s case was no different. She cursed herself for her lack of preparation. She was off her game. If she lost such a high-profile case, she’d ruin her reputation and maybe even her business. It was the last thing she could afford. She needed cash more than ever for Harry’s care, and she couldn’t blow it over a lack of sleep.
Zachary Barron’s eyes bored into hers. Why was her client staring at her like that? Had she missed something? Said something wrong? No. She had to stop second-guessing herself.
Finally Zachary glanced away.
She exhaled. Relax.
In court just ten minutes and things were already out of control.
“Looks like you forgot a few zeros on your calculator, Ms. Carter.”
Kat half-expected Connor Whitehall to wink like she’d just performed a parlor trick—a gray-haired lawyer chastising a much younger expert witness. His aging television-anchor looks, expensive suits, and thirty-something years on her created a powerful impression. An impression he used to discredit her.
“I haven’t missed a thing.” Kat tried not to sound defensive. She clenched her hands together as she sat inside the witness box. The courtroom was empty, save for the warring Barron spouses and their lawyers. Victoria and Zachary Barron sat on opposite sides of the courtroom, studiously avoiding eye contact.
Whitehall shook his head. He shifted his gaze to the judge and sauntered towards him. The judge’s head jerked up from whatever he was reading as the sound of Whitehall’s footsteps filled the silent courtroom.
Kat thought she saw a look pass between them. The judge probably figured she was stupid too. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t listening.
What if she had made a mistake? With less than three hours sleep and no time for a dry run this morning, she was hardly on top of her game. She’d brought Uncle Harry with her to the courthouse again, having run out of options. Leaving him home alone was too risky. He was convinced squatters in his house were trying to kill him. This time she’d parked him at the coffee shop in the lobby and bribed the waitress to watch him. She felt guilty about it, but she’d exhausted all other alternatives.
She hadn’t missed anything, she reassured herself. Whitehall was just using old lawyer tricks to make her crack. She was the only forensic accountant in the courtroom, and the only qualified fraud expert. Still, tracing a tycoon’s assets was never straightforward.
“You’ve missed hundreds of millions of dollars!” Whitehall spun around as the corners of his mouth turned up into a mischievous grin. “Yet you call yourself a forensic accountant?”
Whitehall paused before strolling back to where Kat sat in the witness box. He leaned in close, exhaling coffee breath into her personal space. Kat held her breath. Why did she feel like the one on trial?
“Objection!” Zachary Barron’s lawyer sprang into action. Finally. Kat felt like she’d been left to the wolves, or worse, a predatory lawyer.
“Sustained.” The judge’s voice was devoid of emotion as he checked his watch. Counting the minutes till lunchtime.
Divorces brought out the worst in people, more than criminal fraud, white-collar crime, or anything else. But these little wars were the bread and butter of her forensic accounting practice, providing steady cash flow.
For once she was on the side of the client with money. He would pay her bill on time, in full. In her weeks of groundwork, she’d identified all the assets, verified the valuations, appraisals, and legal titles, and even turned up a few surprises. She just had to follow through and it would be over in twenty minutes.
Kat glanced over at her client. Zachary Barron sat head down as he thumb-tapped yet another message on his phone. He was in his mid-thirties, just like her, but with more money than she’d ever see in a lifetime. He could potentially lose most of it in the next ten minutes if Whitehall got his way. So much was at stake, yet he treated the hearing like a distraction. She, on the other hand, was breaking into a sweat, and it wasn’t even her money.
“Ms. Carter?” Whitehall asked.
“Are you asking a question?”
“Yes, I’m asking you a question. I’m disputing the valuation you have assigned to the matrimonial assets.”
“That doesn’t sound like a question.” Kat returned Whitehall’s stare with her best look of puzzlement and consternation. Cheeky maybe, but two could play at this game.
“Ms. Carter! This isn’t Jeopardy. You valued the matrimonial assets at thirty million. Why have you excluded the family business?” He tapped his pen against her exhibit, a little harder than necessary to make his point.
Good. She’d finally got Whitehall riled up.
Even Zachary glanced from the file he was reading and smiled. One thing she was sure of—if she had millions at stake, she sure as hell wouldn’t be catching up on office paperwork.
Victoria Barron, Zachary’s ex-wife, ex-part-time financial manager, and walking billboard for plastic surgery, sat at the opposing table, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Her expression remained impassive, except for a slight ever-present smile. Kat concluded it was a remnant of too much plastic surgery.
“May I?” Kat asked.
She rose from her seat and strode over to the easel holding her exhibit of the Barrons’ assets. Kat focused her laser pointer on the Zachary’s side of the financial organization chart.
On Edgewater Investments.
It was complicated. Operating companies, holding companies, and offshore trusts. Zachary had been careful to keep very little in his own name. She spent the next ten minutes explaining the complex web of agreements and relationships amongst the entities.
Whitehall raised his eyebrows, then walked away and slumped into the chair beside Victoria Barron. He crossed his arms and gave Kat a look of contempt.
She smiled back at him. “Shall I go on?”
He glared at her.
Victoria Barron, Zachary’s soon to be ex-trophy wife, was gunning for not only half the matrimonial assets, but also half of Zachary’s business. A hundred million rode on Kat’s interpretation of what was or wasn’t included in matrimonial assets. But Zachary had a pre-nup.
“Edgewater Investments is Mr. Barron’s business. It is certainly not community property, so I have excluded it from the matrimonial assets to be divided.” She traced the pointer above the Edgewater box, to two other boxes, both holding companies. One was owned by Zachary Barron, the other by his father, Nathan Barron.
“Not true. My client is entitled to half of that.”
“If that’s the case, we should apply the same logic to Mrs. Barron’s business.”
“That’s hypothetical,” he snorted. “She has no business.”
Actually, she was in the business of getting married. And marriage number three was about to end. “Are you sure about that?” Kat asked.
“Of course I’m sure!” Whitehall jumped up from his seat and marched towards her. “And I’m the one asking the questions, not you.”
“You really should talk to your client. According to my records, she has sizable investments, as well as a healthy income. Didn’t she tell you any of this?”
Whitehall stepped back, obviously surprised. He flashed an angry glare at Victoria Barron. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened into a perfectly round Botox O.
Kat flipped to a second chart and rolled through the details of Victoria Barron’s winning wine and real estate investments, endorsement deals from her plastic surgery reality show, and recent fragrance deal with a cosmetics company. She had hidden it well, with profits funneled to offshore companies in the Caymans. But a spreadsheet was a deadly weapon in the hands of a good forensic accountant.
“Those aren’t investments,” Whitehall scoffed. “It’s personal property.”
Kat glanced over at Victoria. Her perfectly sculpted shoulders slumped and her eyes closed momentarily. “A few bottles of wine, maybe. But she made a two-hundred-thousand-dollar profit last year on her wine investments alone. And her real estate portfolio is eight figures. That’s some hobby.” Her analysis had dispelled the dependent housewife myth—now it was up to the judge to decide.
“It hardly compares to a hundred million.” Whitehall’s tone was flat and defeated.
“What else isn’t she telling us?” Kat turned to smile at the judge, but his head was down, reading the newspaper Kat had noticed earlier. He had hidden it under a file folder on the side of his desk.
Whitehall flushed as he strode back to his seat without saying anything. Flying by the seat of his pants, probably assuming he’d never be questioned. Unprepared. She had him and he knew it.
“That’s just one of the dozens of sales she’s had over the last year. Or didn’t she tell you?”
His face reddened to a deep crimson. Even from twenty feet, Kat saw his knuckles whiten as he dug them into the weathered oak table.
Silence.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Kat pointed with her pen. “As you can see here, she actually owes Mr. Barron, instead of the other way around.”
No answer.
Zachary fidgeted.
Kat felt her face flush. Had she pushed things too far?
“Not a chance, Ms. Carter. Your numbers are bogus.”
Kat took a deep breath and flipped to her final chart. She was about to explain why Whitehall was wrong when the courtroom doors swung open with a bang. She looked up, startled.
“Kat!”
Uncle Harry stood in the doorway and waved his keys.
“You’ve got to help me! I’ve lost the Lincoln.”
Uncle Harry—again forgetting the accident.
Kat motioned for Harry to sit down. Judges were unpredictable. This was exactly the sort of thing that could turn the tide against her client.
Uncle Harry threw his hands up in the air in an exaggerated flourish, but then slumped down in a seat in the second row. She hoped he could stay quiet for the next few minutes.
“Friend of yours?” Whitehall raised his eyebrows.
Kat ignored him.
Harry’s voice rose again, an unfortunate result of the room’s acoustics.
“Damn towing companies! Why can’t they leave a note or a phone number or something?”
The judge motioned to the bailiff standing at the back of the room.
“Your Honor, I’m sorry. Give me a minute, please.” If she hadn’t already blown it, she surely had now. She strode towards Harry as fast as possible without breaking into a run.
“Where, Uncle Harry? On the curb?” Kat whispered as she patted his arm. “Ten more minutes. Then we’ll search for your car.” The Lincoln was safely parked in Harry’s garage. She’d disconnected the garage door opener as an added precaution since he’d refused to part with his car keys.
“They could at least call me.” He pouted and crossed his arms.
Whitehall turned to face the judge. “Your honor, do we really need to listen to more?”
“No counsel, I don’t think we do.”
Whitehall gloated.
Kat returned to the witness box. She glanced at Victoria Barron, who was smiling into a handheld mirror, checking her makeup.
Victoria’s smile faded when the judge spoke.
“Judgment for three million in matrimonial assets to be divided equally. Case dismissed.”
Zachary Barron snapped his file shut and straightened, suddenly at full attention. Like someone had flipped a switch.
Kat should have felt good, but divorce cases always got her down. How could two people fall in love, then hate each other within three years? Money brought out the worst in people. They would die for it, lie for it, and even kill for it. She’d seen it countless times in her line of work.
That’s why she’d never get married. Not even to Jace, despite his proposal. They’d had heated discussions about it, even broke up over it two years ago. They’d been testing the waters as a couple again for the last year, and she wasn’t screwing that up by getting married.
She shoved her papers into her briefcase and made a beeline for Harry.
“Let’s go outside.” She linked arms with her uncle and steered him out to the lobby. It was the second time today Harry had thought he’d lost his Lincoln. “Uncle Harry—maybe it’s time you—”
Harry held his arm up in protest.
“Will you stop it, Kat? It’s my God-given right to drive. I drive better than all those other yahoos on the road. They’re the ones creating problems.”
“Driving’s a privilege and a convenience. But when we get older, sometimes it’s better to be—”
“Don’t use that ‘we’ tone with me, young lady! I might be old, but I will not be patronized!”
Harry’s rising voice echoed in the cavernous marble foyer. Groups of lawyers, plaintiffs, and others turned and stared, most giving her suspicious glares.
“Don’t be upset, Uncle Harry. I’m just worried about you.”
“I know.” His voice cracked. “But it’s frustrating. What’s happening to me, Kat?”
Harry rubbed a hand over his bald head.
“It’s okay, Uncle Harry.” Kat touched his arm. “You’ve just been busy. We all forget sometimes.”
Aunt Elsie’s unexpected heart attack right after the Liberty Diamond Mines case had hit Harry hard. Dr. McAdam figured the stress accelerated the decline in his mental health. Now Kat was his only family to speak of. What might be next on the dementia journey scared her too.
“It’s easier to take the bus. No car or parking tickets to worry about.” Kat squeezed his hand. “I can drive you wherever you need to go.”
“After you drove your car into the Fraser River last year?” Harry pulled his hand away. “No thanks.”
His long-term memory was still remarkably intact.
“Kat—wait.”
Kat spun around. Zachary Barron emerged from the crowd and marched towards her. People parted on either side, opening a path for him like he was royalty. A clean-cut man in an Ermenegildo Zegna suit whispered success and power. Kat’s arm-in-arm journey with Harry a minute earlier had been more like a jousting match, as she elbow-bashed and zigzagged through the crowd.
Zachary couldn’t possibly be mad about the settlement. Or could he? Save a client a hundred million and they’d still find something to complain about. He hadn’t even seen her bill yet.
“Kat? We need to talk.”
“Sure. You do realize you got a very good result. It’s hard to—”
“It’s not about the divorce.” He glanced around to see who was within earshot, then leaned closer. “You handle fraud, right?”
“Yes, of course.” Corporate fraud and divorce were both big areas of her forensic accounting practice. But Harry was agitated; she had to calm him down and distract him from his Lincoln.
Harry. Kat spun around, but he had vanished. The lunchtime crowd had swallowed up Harry’s path. Her eyes searched the crowd, a life-sized Where’s Waldo? puzzle. Nothing. A wave of panic washed over her. How could she find a short, balding octogenarian in the sea of people?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. A flash of gray hair, a beige raincoat. Harry—or at least someone who resembled Harry—disappeared around a corner.
“Zachary—can I call you later this afternoon? Something’s just come up.”
She pressed speed dial on her cell, trying to call Uncle Harry and corral him back. Even if he had his phone, he probably wouldn’t answer, but it was worth a try.
“It’s urgent,” Zachary said. “I’ll come by your office this afternoon. Two o’clock.”
It was more of a command than a question. Kat glanced up from her cell phone to protest, but Zachary Barron was gone.