They did not yet know the half of it.

The independent forensic audit — the one my protective rights had let me trigger — had gone deeper than I expected, and turned up more.

Arthur’s shell companies had received the three point eight million I had traced, yes, but the audit found the rest of the architecture too: Fiona had personally authorized fake consulting invoices, papering over the theft with fictional work.

Flynn had approved a series of the transfers himself and dressed them up in the books as ordinary transportation expenses.

It was not one man’s crime that the family had stumbled into.

It was a family enterprise, and all three of them had their hands in it.