Tracing the LLC

Serenity LLC. The name was a cruel joke, a veneer of peace painted over a crime. Elena sat at her desk, the solarium’s humidity still clinging to her skin. Her hands were cold. She typed the name into the state business registry search bar.

*Searching...*

She wasn't using the Domaine’s network. She was tethered to her phone, using a VPN she had installed on her laptop years ago to access streaming services while traveling. Now, it was her lifeline.

*Result Found: Serenity LLC.*
*Status: Active.*
*Jurisdiction: Delaware.*

Delaware. The black hole of corporate transparency. Anonymous ownership, minimal reporting. A dead end for most. But Elena knew how money moved. She knew that even a Delaware LLC needed a bank account, and a bank account needed a signatory.

She opened the Trust's bank portal. Her admin access was still active, though she felt the clock ticking. Victoria’s threat about "instability" wasn't idle; she would move to revoke access soon.

Elena pulled the cancelled checks for the insurance premiums. They were made out to MetLife, not Serenity directly. That was the clean money. The dirty money was the "Consulting Fee" she had seen earlier.

She found the monthly transfer. $5,000. Every month. For "Estate Management Consulting."

The receiving bank was a small regional branch in upstate New York. Not Switzerland. Not the Caymans. Somewhere domestic. Somewhere accessible.

She traced the routing number. *Hudson Valley Regional Bank.*

She couldn't hack the bank. But she could check the vendor file she maintained for the Trust. If Serenity LLC was receiving consulting fees, they had to have a W-9 on file. It was federal law. Even Victoria feared the IRS more than she feared God.

She navigated to the vendor folder. *S-T-U... Serenity.*

The file was there. A scanned PDF from 2010.

She opened it.

The form was standard. The address was a PO Box in Montpelier, Vermont. The EIN was listed.

She scrolled to the bottom.

*Certification.*
*Under penalties of perjury, I certify that...*

The signature was a scrawl of black ink. Sharp, aggressive loops. It wasn't Victoria's precise hand. It wasn't Julian's lazy script.

It was a signature she had seen on a thousand contracts, a thousand NDAs, a thousand threats disguised as legal correspondence.

*Arthur Pendelton.*

The family attorney. The man who had sat at her dinner table, drank her wine, and patted her hand when she complained about tax audits.

He wasn't just the registered agent filing the paperwork. He was the manager. He was the one controlling the money flow.

Elena leaned back, her chair creaking.

Arthur Pendelton had been the family lawyer since before she met Julian. He was a fixture, as permanent as the vines. He knew where every body was buried because he had dug the graves.

But why? Why would a high-powered attorney risk disbarment and prison for a monthly stipend of five thousand dollars? It was peanuts compared to his hourly rate.

Unless the five thousand wasn't the point. Unless the five thousand was just the maintenance fee for the secret, and the real payoff was something else.

She looked at the W-9 again. The date was January 14, 2010. The day after Victoria’s husband died.

The power had shifted then. From the father to the son. Or rather, from the father to the mother who controlled the son. And the lawyer who controlled the mother.

Elena saved the file to her encrypted external drive. She was building a case, brick by brick. But a case needed a motive.

She needed to know who Arthur Pendelton really was to this family. Not the lawyer. The man.

She typed his name into the search bar, adding the word "genealogy."

The screen flickered. The VPN dropped.

*Connection Lost.*

She checked her phone. No signal.

She checked the wifi icon on her laptop. *Connected, No Internet.*

The house’s internet was down.

A shadow fell across the threshold of her office.

"Working late again, Elena?"

Arthur stood in the doorway. He was wearing his cashmere overcoat, holding a leather briefcase. He smiled, but his eyes were flat, dead things.

"I tried to email you the updated bylaws," he said, stepping into the room. "But the server seems to be having... difficulties."

He walked to the desk. He placed the briefcase on the blotter, right next to her hand. He opened the latches with a dual *snap-snap* that sounded like bones breaking.

Inside, there was a single file folder.

"I thought it would be easier to bring the hard copy," he said. "Since you have such an interest in signatures."

He wasn't just the lawyer. He was the signatory on the account receiving the funds.