I had agreed to their procedures because I wanted the evidence preserved, not because I enjoyed surrendering control.

Inside the safe was a bound ledger, copies of supporting statements, and a packet of letters.

Arthur had not exaggerated.

Some pages showed substantial transfers disguised as charitable grants.

Other entries linked those transfers to shell entities controlled by people who still attended Mercer board meetings.

One familiar name appeared more often than any other: Donald Mercer, my father’s younger brother.

I sat in the worn leather chair and thought of Uncle Donald at Christmas, drinking from a crystal glass and lecturing me about the duty to defend our name.