Three days after my twin sons were born, my husband brought twenty-two members of his family into a hospital room and offered me two hundred thousand dollars to sign away my marriage, my children, and my right to ever ask about their company's accounts. They expected me to cry. I read every page and signed all of them.

The pattern is boring and it is the same pattern every time.

Transfers out of the trust account into the operating account, described as management fee true-ups, in amounts that were not management fees. Then transfers back in, weeks later, in round numbers, from wherever they had come from that month.

It is called lapping and it is the oldest thing in the world and it works until the day somebody wants their deposit back at the same time as somebody else.

At the point I stopped counting, the trust account was one million four hundred and eleven thousand dollars short of the deposit liability the company was carrying.

Four hundred and eleven units of tenants' money.

Both signatories on that account are Caspian Thackery and Adelaide Thackery.

I went to Beatrix Nwankwo in the July at six months pregnant, and she brought in a forensic accountant called Mira Kazan, and the two of them spent nine weeks turning eleven weeks of my reading into something that would survive being looked at.