Beatrice flinched.
I did not.
Arthur pointed toward me.
“I built that company.”
“My father financed it.”
“I tripled its value.”
“And stole from it.”
He stopped breathing.
Just for a fraction of a second.
That was enough.
I saw it.
He knew exactly what I meant.
I continued.
“Twelve shell companies.
Fourteen-point-eight million dollars.
Forged signatures.
Corporate cards.”
Beatrice backed away.
“Arthur?”
“Shut up.”
She stared at him.
“My name is on companies?”
He turned toward her.
“Not now.”
“My name?”
She looked at me.
“What companies?”
“Three.”
Arthur’s voice became dangerous.
“Claire, you have no idea what those structures are.”
“Federal forensic accountants disagree.”
Something inside him collapsed.
Not grief.
Not guilt.
Control.
His face hardened.
“You went to the government?”
“I gave evidence to our attorneys.
They followed their obligations.”
“You’ll destroy Sterling.”
“No.”
I looked at Chloe’s photograph.
“You did that yourself.”
Arthur’s phone rang again.
