Chapter 2 - The Disappearing Funds
The call from Captain Briggs ended, but the silence inside Paige’s spacious guest bedroom felt heavier than the explosion itself. I stood near the window, staring out at the manicured lawns of Upper Arlington. Down on the driveway, Paige’s sleek SUV glistened under the afternoon sun. Across the hall, Lucy was curled under a floral duvet, finally resting after days of waking up screaming from nightmares of shattering glass.
My hands shook as I unlocked my laptop on the small writing desk. Until ten minutes ago, I had tried desperately to hold on to the belief that my life was still anchored to something real. Fourteen years of marriage, a daughter we both adored, a quiet home in a quiet neighborhood. But Captain Briggs’s words kept repeating in my head: The main gas connection appears to have been loosened intentionally.
Equipment doesn't loosen itself. A brass fitting beneath a kitchen sink doesn't back off its threads by accident right before a man leaves for the airport.
I opened our joint banking portal. My fingers hesitated over the keyboard before entering the credentials. For years, Graham had managed our primary investment portfolios and the trust fund left to me by my late aunt, while I handled our routine household checking account. He always said it was better to keep things streamlined so I could focus on my career as an architectural historian and raising Lucy. I had trusted him blindly, mistaking his financial control for protection.
When the main portfolio dashboard loaded, my breath hitched in my chest.
The primary investment account—the one holding the $600,000 inheritance my aunt had left me four years ago—was empty.
I clicked frantically through the transaction history, my eyes straining against the glare of the screen. Over the past eight months, systematic wire transfers of $50,000, $75,000, and $100,000 had been routed out of the trust. They didn't go into our home mortgage or our shared checking. They were routed through a commercial entity called Apex Horizon Events LLC.
Apex Horizon Events was Paige’s boutique event coordination company.
A cold, sickening weight settled deep in my stomach. I opened a second tab and checked my sister’s corporate filings registered with the Ohio Secretary of State. Apex Horizon Events had been facing three separate civil lawsuits for defaulted vendor payments since last winter. Her business was drowning in debt. Yet, over the last six months, Paige had renovated her kitchen, bought custom Italian leather furniture, and leased a brand-new luxury vehicle.
She hadn't been saving her business through brilliant event planning. She had been absorbing my inheritance.
I leaned back in the chair, my mind racing through every interaction, every shared dinner, every sisterly hug over the past year. Whenever I had mentioned feeling distant from Graham, Paige had always been there with a comforting cup of tea and soothing words: "Marriage goes through dry spells, Hannah. Just give him space. He works so hard for your family."
She wasn't giving me comfort. She was keeping me quiet while they drained my life.
May you like
I pulled out my phone and dialed Detective Sarah Miller, the lead investigator assigned to our arson and explosion file at the Columbus Police Department.
"Detective Miller," I said, my voice steadying into something sharp and unyielding. "I need you to run a forensic financial audit on my husband and my sister immediately. And I need a digital extraction team sent to this house."
