Chapter 5 - The Account Balanced
Decembers in Ottawa are cold, crisp, and brilliant.
By the middle of the month, a fresh layer of white snow blanketed the parliament buildings, the trees along the Rideau Canal were draped in twinkling white fairy lights, and the air smelled of roasted chestnuts, woodsmoke, and pine.
My firm was hosting its annual holiday party at the Fairmont Château Laurier—a stunning, historic hotel overlooking the river.
The grand ballroom was filled with music, laughter, and light. My twelve employees, along with their spouses, friends, and several of our primary corporate clients, stood around high-top tables enjoying champagne, delicate canapés, and fresh oysters.
I stood near the large arched windows, wearing an immaculate, floor-length velvet gown in deep emerald green. My dark hair was styled in soft, elegant waves, a simple diamond pendant resting against my collarbone—a pendant I had bought for myself to celebrate my company's ten-year anniversary.
Marcus Vance walked over, holding two crystal glasses of vintage champagne, handing one to me with a warm, genuine smile.
"To Simone Carter," Marcus said, lifting his glass. "The undisputed queen of forensic auditing, financial freedom, and pristine balance sheets."
"To balance sheets," I laughed, clinking my glass against his. "May they always balance to zero."
"Speaking of balance sheets," Marcus murmured, taking a small sip of his drink. "I received a final confirmation from the CRA auditor this morning regarding Grant and Patricia."
I raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"Grant paid his five-thousand-dollar court sanction yesterday using the remaining proceeds from his townhouse sale," Marcus reported smoothly. "And Patricia agreed to a voluntary three-year repayment plan for her undeclared distribution taxes. She’s currently working twenty hours a week as an assistant at a local flower shop in Nepean to cover her monthly installments."
I paused, looking down into my champagne glass, a soft, thoughtful smile playing on my lips.
Patricia Mercer—the woman who spent nine years standing in luxury spa robes screaming at hotel attendants because her supplementary card was declined—was now spending her afternoons wrapping roses for minimum wage to pay the Canada Revenue Agency.
It wasn't a punishment I had inflicted on her. It was simply the natural, mathematical consequence of her own choices, brought to light by the ledger she had spent nine years ignoring.
"How does it feel, Simone?" Marcus asked gently, looking at me with deep, professional respect.
I looked around the sparkling ballroom—at Sarah, my young associate, laughing with her husband near the chocolate fountain; at David, my new facility manager, chatting proudly with our lead IT consultant; at the warm, vibrant community of people whose lives were better, safer, and brighter because of the business I had built with my own two hands.
I took a slow, deep breath of the pine-scented air.
My home was peaceful. My business was thriving. My heart was light.
May you like
There were no screaming phone calls waiting for me in the middle of the night. No condescending insults over Sunday brunch. No excuses to make for a husband who viewed my ambition as a threat to his ego.
"It feels," I smiled, lifting my glass toward the snow falling gently outside the high arched windows, "like I finally answered the right call."
