“Stop asking for money,” my sister said on Thanksgiving. Everyone was silent. I smiled and canceled all five payments I made to her each month. Her phone kept ringing…

The door to Arthur Pendelton’s executive office closed with a muted click, shutting out the whispers of the newsroom-style floor outside. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping, rain-slicked view of Elliott Bay, but the atmosphere inside the office was suffocatingly tense.

Arthur walked behind his massive mahogany desk and sat down. He didn't invite me to sit. He crossed his hands over a leather-bound folder and looked at me over the rim of his reading glasses.

"Sterling & Croft maintains the highest ethical standards in the Pacific Northwest, Skyla," Arthur began, his tone measured and terrifyingly quiet. "We audit Fortune 500 companies. We deal with federal regulators. Having a family brawl erupt in our main floor involving accusations of identity theft, bank fraud, and illegal debt creation is... unacceptable."

"I apologize for the disturbance, Arthur," I said, standing tall. "I did not invite my sister here, nor did I anticipate her violent outburst."

"That may be true," Arthur replied, leaning forward. "But she mentioned a figure. Two hundred and seventy thousand dollars. She mentioned forged signatures and bank fraud involving your father. If one of my senior auditors is entangled in a major personal fraud investigation, it creates a massive compliance risk for this firm. If your personal finances are compromised, your integrity as an auditor is questioned."

"My integrity has never been compromised," I asserted firmly. "I discovered the fraudulent accounts late Thursday night. I am the victim of identity theft, Arthur. My father used my credentials without my knowledge or consent."

Arthur stared at me for a long moment, then slowly opened the folder on his desk. "Your father is Richard Montgomery, senior partner at Montgomery & Vance Commercial Real Estate, correct?"

"Yes."

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. "Skyla... what I am about to tell you must not leave this room. But given today’s scene, you need to understand the scope of the fire you are standing in." He slid a paper across the desk toward me.

I stepped forward and looked down at the document. It was an internal risk-assessment report generated by Sterling & Croft’s forensic accounting department.

"Three weeks ago," Arthur explained, "our firm was hired by a private equity group to conduct a pre-acquisition audit of Montgomery & Vance Real Estate. We were reviewing your father's firm's assets."

My heart stopped. "What did you find?"

"Your father's firm is completely insolvent," Arthur said bluntly. "Richard Montgomery didn't just take out a two-hundred-and-seventy-thousand-dollar loan in your name to save your sister's failed company. He has been embezzling client escrow funds for the last eighteen months. He has commingled personal loans, corporate debt, and fake shell accounts to keep his estate from going into foreclosure. The house you grew up in? It has three secondary mortgages attached to it. It’s entirely hollow."

The walls of my reality felt like they were crashing down around me. The grand suburban house, the crystal chandelier, the designer coats, the glittering Thanksgiving dinners—it was all an illusion built on stolen money, forged signatures, and structural fraud.

"Does... does my father know you’re auditing him?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"He knows an audit is underway, but he doesn't know we’ve already uncovered the shell company transfers," Arthur said sternly. "And here is where your situation becomes critical, Skyla. One of the primary shell entities used to divert your father's embezzled funds is registered under the name R&S Holding Group. The 'S' stands for Skyla."

I gasped, staggering back a step. "What?! I never signed anything for an R&S Holding Group!"

"We know," Arthur said. "We ran signature analytics this morning after your sister's scene. Your father has been using your name, your clean tax records, and your professional credibility as an auditor to shield his illegal transactions from federal oversight. If the Department of Justice steps in tomorrow, your name is on those documents. You won't just be a victim of debt—you could be named as a co-conspirator in a multi-million-dollar corporate fraud scheme."

The air left my lungs. My father hadn't just stolen my credit to buy Marissa a luxury car; he had set me up as the ultimate fall guy for his criminal empire. If his firm collapsed, he had structured the paperwork so that the blame—and the prison time—would land squarely on me.

"Arthur..." My voice trembled, but a cold, burning fire ignited deep in my chest. "Give me access to the deep forensic file. Let me clear my name."