That evening, while Avery and Taylor were celebrating at the reception I’d funded, while Sophie was dancing in her twelve-thousand-dollar dress to music played by a seven-thousand-dollar band, while two hundred guests enjoyed filet mignon and lobster tail I’d paid for, I sat in my penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park with Martin and his colleague, a forensic accountant named Patricia.
We went through everything—every contract, every receipt, every email. Patricia’s analysis revealed even more than we’d initially discovered. The total overcharge was closer to twenty thousand dollars. Taylor’s business account showed deposits that corresponded exactly with the inflated amounts. They hadn’t just excluded me from the wedding. They’d systematically defrauded me to fund a business startup.
“This is textbook elder financial abuse,” Patricia said, shaking her head. “Using family relationships to manipulate and exploit. The fact that they barred you from an event you legally hosted makes it even worse.”
“What are my options?” I asked.