Chapter 2 - The Call from SavannahThat night, I checked into a suite at the downtown Marriott, setting my laptop up on the oak desk overlooking the city skyline.
I dialed my estate attorney, Arthur Vance, who was overseeing the probate filings in Georgia.
âCaleb,â Arthurâs deep, gravelly voice came through the speaker. âI just finished reviewing the trust deed structure. Your great-uncle Amos set this up twenty years ago. The entire eight-hundred-million-dollar estate is held within the Amos Wynn Legacy Trust. Since the principal assets were never co-mingled with marital funds, your wifeâs divorce attorneys cannot touch a single cent.â
âWhat about my contracting firm, Arthur?â I asked, leaning back in my chair.
âWynn Construction was incorporated two years before you married Simone,â Arthur explained smoothly. âWe have the original capitalization receipts. She is entitled to a percentage of the appreciation value during your five-year marriageâand even that can be offset by her financial misconduct if we prove embezzlement.â
I opened my smart home security portal on the laptop screen.
Four months ago, after a series of high-end package thefts in our neighborhood, I had installed motion-activated 4K cameras above the garage, front porch, and patio doors. The primary control server was tied directly to my private cloud account.
I began pulling the archived video feeds from the last ninety days.
That was when the truth revealed its ugly, systematic pattern.
A silver Mercedes sedanâregistered to Andre Tilmanâappeared on the garage camera.
Seven separate overnight visits.
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Always pulling into the driveway at 11:30 p.m. when I was away overseeing commercial building builds in Atlanta. Always leaving at 5:45 a.m., minutes before my morning call.
Simone wasn't just falling out of love. She was orchestrating a calculated corporate and domestic takeover.
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