Or to have Derek introduce me to his wealthy investor friends as his sister’s diversity project. I listened quietly, feeling a new wave of intense disgust for the man I had married. DeAndre tapped the ledger with his index finger. They think they are untouchable because of their generational wealth and their pure bloodline.
But wealth leaves a paper trail, Caroline. And arrogance always makes people sloppy. He turned the heavy ledger toward me. The pages were filled with complex banking codes, offshore routing numbers, and encrypted transaction identifications.
As a military intelligence officer, I was used to analyzing enemy troop movements, intercepting communications, and predicting supply chain disruptions. Looking at Derek’s financial history felt exactly the same. It was a detailed map of deception and desperation. DeAndre pointed his pen at a cluster of transactions highlighted in bright yellow ink.
These payments caught my eye immediately, he explained. They are not massive wire transfers like the ones he used to cover his margin calls. These are recurring, highly sanitized payments made on the fifteenth of every single month for the last ten years. Five thousand dollars a pop, routed through three different corporate shell companies before finally landing in a domestic medical account.
I scrutinized the destination codes, my mind racing to comprehend the motive. Where is the money going, I asked, my tactical training working to find the pattern. Is it blackmail. Is he paying off a gambling debt to a syndicate.
DeAndre shook his head slowly. That is exactly what I thought at first. I spent the last forty eight hours tracking the destination routing number through a maze of dummy corporations. It does not go to a casino.
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