Part 2: The Paper Trail of Hayes Development
The numbers on the computer screen didn't make sense, no matter how many times Elliot ran the algorithms.
Lena's internal employment file stated she was being paid a premium executive-level housekeeping salary—a rate his mother, Victoria Hayes, had personally authorized six months ago.
Yet, the actual bank disbursement records attached to Lena’s corporate ID showed she was receiving less than minimum wage, barely enough to cover the bus fare and rent for her one-room apartment.
Elliot leaned back in his leather chair, his jaw tightening as he opened the secondary system archives, tracing the missing funds.
The differences between the authorized corporate expenses and Lena’s actual deposits weren't just vanishing; they were being systematically rerouted into a private offshore corporate account labeled V.H. Management Consulting.
Victoria Hayes.
His mother hadn't just hired a housekeeper to maintain the Main Line mansion; she had created a fraudulent salary shield, using a widowed, vulnerable mother to siphon tax-exempt corporate funds back into her personal account.
Elliot felt a cold rage settle over his chest as he printed out the entire audit trail, placing the sheets into a black leather folder.
He remembered the day his mother had insisted on handling the domestic hiring personally, claiming she wanted to "help a young, underprivileged woman get back on her feet" after her husband passed away.
In reality, Victoria had targeted Lena precisely because she was a widow with no legal support, no family wealth, and no structural way to fight back against a multi-million-dollar construction conglomerate.
"Sir, your mother has just arrived for the afternoon luncheon," Elliot’s assistant announced over the office intercom, her voice breaking his concentration.
"She’s waiting in the main dining room with the regional development board."
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Elliot closed the folder with a sharp, heavy snap, his face settling into a rigid, unyielding mask of determination.
He didn't slip the paperwork into his desk; he carried it openly down the grand hallway, passing the crystal chandeliers and mirroring floors that Lena had spent hours polishing with raw, blistered hands.
