By October, the easy part of gathering records was over.
Everything else required waiting.
Leah exchanged requests with Scott's attorney.
Some documents arrived.
Others did not.
The first package contained several months of business bank statements.
I expected it to answer our questions.
Instead it produced more.
Account 4821 belonged to a company Scott controlled.
It was not proof of stolen funds.
A transfer from a joint account to a business account might represent a loan or repayment.
But the books needed to explain it.
The business ledger labeled several deposits as owner contributions.
Scott's personal disclosure did not mention a corresponding interest or receivable.
An accountant would have to determine whether the entries were accurate and how they affected the marital estate.
Leah recommended a forensic accountant named Priya Shah.
The title sounded like something from a television series.
Her office looked more like a place where exhausted people made spreadsheets.
There were printers, three monitors, and a desk covered in labeled tabs.
Priya asked me what conclusion I wanted her to reach.
“I want to know where the money went,” I said.
“Good answer. If you come in wanting a particular accusation, you can miss the actual explanation.”
She reviewed the available statements.
There were several transfers from our joint account to 4821.
There were payments from that company to Ridgeway Administrative Services.
And Ridgeway had an address in Aaron's commercial building.
The records did not yet establish who owned Ridgeway.
Priya drew three boxes on a sheet of paper.
“One transfer can move through multiple accounts without disappearing,” she said. “We follow ownership, purpose, and supporting invoices.”
She explained that business valuations considered earnings, debts, assets, and other factors.
We could not take a bank balance from one date and declare that I was entitled to half.
Nor could Scott declare the company worthless simply because he operated it.
I listened and wrote notes.
“Could this affect the house?” I asked.
“Possibly. A fair property settlement considers the larger financial picture. That's a question for your attorney.”
I left with an invoice for work that would be expensive.
I called Leah from the parking lot.
“Are we sure this is worth it?”
“We'll manage scope carefully,” she said. “But a proposed settlement built on incomplete figures isn't a bargain.”
That evening, the furnace made a grinding sound.
I sat on the basement steps and listened.
Scott had always arranged repairs and then complained that I didn't understand the cost.
I called the number on an old maintenance sticker.
A technician came the next morning.
He replaced a failing part and showed me the worn one.
I paid the bill.
Then I added it to the household expenses ledger.
It was not satisfying.
It was necessary.
Mara arrived that afternoon with soup.
We ate at the counter while Ben did homework nearby.
“What's the hardest part?” she asked after he went upstairs.
“The uncertainty,” I said. “Every time I understand one piece, three more pieces appear.”
She stirred her soup.
“Remember when you helped Mom settle the bills after Dad died?”
I nodded.
“You did one envelope at a time.”
“I cried over every envelope.”
“Sometimes you cried while filing it.”
We smiled.
A week later Priya called.
She had matched several Ridgeway payments to invoices that appeared unusually vague.
Consulting support.
Management assistance.
Monthly administration.
There were no descriptions of who performed the work.
“Does that make them fraudulent?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “It means we should request the contracts and evidence of services.”
Then she mentioned another document.
A business filing listed Aaron as a manager of Ridgeway.
I sat very still.
Scott had told me Aaron knew almost nothing about his company.
Aaron had repeated that claim at family gatherings.
Now his name appeared on paper.
The question was not whether the brothers loved each other.
The question was what financial work they had done together, and whether Scott had disclosed it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Aaron’s Wife Brought a Box of Records but Refused to Be Drafted into Either Side’s War
The Night Scott Put Divorce Papers Beside Our Dinner and Mistook My Signature for Surrender
Part 7 of 16
