Marcus clicked to the next slide — bank-transfer logs from a Sterling Group subsidiary to an unlisted medical consulting account. Fractional payments.

Intermediary names. Timestamps matching the days after the crash.

Then the side door opened, and Julian walked in.

Beatrice went pale. “Julian… don’t do this.”

He walked past his mother without looking at her, approached the podium, and handed a flash drive to Marcus. “I spent years believing I had to fight for my place in this family,” Julian said, his voice trembling.

“My mother fed that ambition until it consumed me. But I will not inherit an empire built on a crime.”