chapter 13
The investigation began that same week.
We launched an internal audit without alerting the Sullivan board. Linh coordinated with discreet forensic accountants. Michael and I combed through financial reports, dated correspondences, and even personal journals my father had stored in his old office.
It was in one of those journals that I found the first crack of light.
A meeting note dated seven years ago detailed a blackmail threat from a man named Graham West, a mid-tier broker who had vanished from the industry two years later.
The entry read:
West demanded access to the Riverfront properties. Said he knew about the trust. Promised silence in exchange for a 3% stake. I refused. If this resurfaces, he’s the leak.
I stared at the page, my pulse pounding.
West.
That name had appeared in the leaked documents.
I cross-referenced our files. Sure enough, one of the companies used in the laundering allegations had ties to a dummy firm founded by Graham W. Holdings.
He had been the one orchestrating the money trail.
Not my father.
He had refused. He had stayed clean.
And someone had buried it.
I called Linh.
“If we can prove that West fabricated the ledger trail, we can clear my father.”
Linh was silent for a moment.
“I’ll start pulling banking records. If any of the listed accounts are inactive or fake, we’ll trace the source documents.”
“Good,” I said. “Do it quietly. No leaks.”
By the end of the week, the tide turned.
We traced two of the largest wire transfers in the documents to ghost accounts, both flagged in an old financial fraud case involving, unsurprisingly, Graham West.
He had forged the ledger and framed the Sullivans posthumously.
But that left a bigger question.
Who found the forged documents now? And why send them to me?
The answer came from the most unexpected source.
Emma.
She reappeared in the news, not as a suspect or ally, but as the new face of Andros Capital, a rival investment group we had shut out of negotiations the previous year.
Andros was notorious for aggressive acquisitions. They didn’t build.
They devoured.
Michael called me into his office, eyes grim.
“Guess who joined their leadership team last month?”
I stared at the screen.
Matthew Sullivan.
My cousin.
The snake we’d exposed had slithered into new shadows.
“It was never just about sabotage,” I said. “It was revenge.”
Michael nodded. “And leverage. They want to shake your position in Sullivan Group, force you out, and weaken Johnson Group in the process.”
“But they didn’t expect us to survive the first hit.”
“No,” he said, lips curling. “But they’ll come harder next time.”