Chapter 9
Julian read the note twice.
Then he placed it in an evidence bag himself.
His hand was steady.
His eyes were not.
“You need security.”
“I need answers.”
“You need both.”
I wanted to argue.
Then I thought of my father in rehab.
Mateo walking home from night class.
Our apartment door with its weak lock.
“Fine,” I said.
He assigned a driver named Elise.
Former military.
No nonsense.
She looked at me once and said, “I don’t do intimidation. I do prevention.”
“I like you already.”
Celeste pretended innocence.
Graham disappeared.
That told us enough.
Julian froze foundation accounts.
Then the board turned on him.
His uncle Warren called an emergency meeting and accused him of instability.
I sat beside Julian at the long glass table while men in suits discussed him like he was absent.
“He has become emotional,” Warren said.
Julian did not react.
Celeste sighed.
“We are all concerned about Abigail’s influence.”
There it was.
The maid.
The woman.
The outsider.
The easy blame.
I opened my folder.
“Before you vote,” I said, “you should see where the money went.”
Warren scoffed.
“You are not board-authorized.”
Julian spoke quietly.
“She is authorized by me.”
I passed out the documents.
Payments.
Shell companies.
Denied claims.
Employee names.
One director went pale.
Another whispered, “My assistant applied for help after her husband died.”
I nodded.
“She was denied. The fund paid anyway. Not to her.”
Celeste stood.
“This is fabricated.”
The door opened.
Elise entered with two federal agents.
May you like
Julian looked at his stepmother.
“Then explain it carefully.”
