Chapter Twenty-Two: The Investigation

Adrian's team worked through the night.

I didn't sleep either. I sat in the conference room with Felix and two analysts I hadn't met before. Their names were Priya and Marcus. They didn't ask questions. They just worked.

Felix spread the documents across the table. My mother's journal entries. The photographs. The wire transfers. The letter from Henry Ashford.

"We have three decades of evidence," he said. "Thirty years of corruption. Money laundering. Fraud. Conspiracy. Possibly murder."

Priya looked up from her laptop. "The paper trail is extensive. But it's fragmented. We need to connect the dots."

I leaned forward. "What do you need?"

"Names. Dates. Locations. Anything that links Henry's shell companies to the trust fund. To Julian. To Volkov."

I closed my eyes. I thought back to my previous life. The nights I'd spent in Julian's office. The documents I'd found. The conversations I'd overheard.

"There's a warehouse," I said. "In the industrial district. Julian used it for storage. But it wasn't storage. It was a front."

Felix frowned. "How do you know?"

"I found the deed once. In his safe. It was under a different name. A shell company. But I recognized the address."

"Can you remember the name?"

I opened my eyes. "Hartley Logistics."

Felix typed. He waited. His screen loaded.

"It's real," he said. "It's registered to a holding company in the Caymans. The holding company is owned by a trust. The trust is connected to Henry Ashford."

I sat back. "That's the connection."

Marcus spoke for the first time. "We need to get inside. We need physical evidence. Paper trails can be faked. But if we find something in that warehouse—something that ties Henry directly to Volkov—"

"We have him," I said.

"Exactly."

Adrian walked in. He was holding a cup of coffee. He looked at the table. Then at me.

"What did you find?"

I told him. He listened without interrupting. When I finished, he set down his coffee.

"I'll send a team tonight," he said.

"No."

He looked at me. "No?"

"I want to go."

"That's not a good idea."

"I don't care. I want to see it. I want to be there when we find it."

He studied me. His jaw tightened. But he didn't argue.

"Fine," he said. "But you stay with Sloane. You don't touch anything. You don't do anything without my say."

"Agreed."

He held my gaze. Then he nodded.

"Tonight," he said. "We go tonight."

---

The warehouse was in the industrial district.

It was dark. Abandoned. The windows were boarded. The doors were chained.

Sloane cut the lock. We walked inside.

The space was enormous. Shelves lined the walls. Boxes stacked to the ceiling. Dust covered everything.

"Spread out," Adrian said. "Look for anything with a paper trail. Invoices. Receipts. Shipping manifests. Anything."

The team moved. I stayed with Sloane. We walked through the aisles. I looked at the boxes. The labels. The dates.

And then I found it.

A filing cabinet in the back. Locked. I called Sloane over. She broke it open.

Inside were folders. Dozens of them. I pulled one out. I opened it.

Invoices. Shipping manifests. Names. Dates. Amounts.

And a photograph.

Henry Ashford. Standing with a man I recognized. Andrei Volkov. They were shaking hands. Smiling. The date on the back was four months before my mother died.

I held the photograph. My hands were steady. My heart was beating normally.

I thought about my mother. I thought about what she would have felt if she'd found this. If she'd seen the proof. If she'd known she was right.

"Sloane," I said.

She walked over. She looked at the photograph. Her expression didn't change.

"We have him," she said.

"Yes. We do."

---

We brought everything back to the penthouse.

Adrian spread the documents across the conference table. The photograph. The invoices. The manifests. Everything.

"This is enough," he said. "This is more than enough."

I looked at the photograph. Henry and Volkov. Shaking hands. Smiling.

"He killed her," I said. "He killed my mother because she found this."

Adrian didn't respond. He just waited.

"And Julian helped him cover it up. He knew. He's known all along."

I looked at Adrian. He looked at me.

"I want him to suffer," I said. "Not just go to prison. I want him to lose everything. I want him to watch it happen."

Adrian was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "You want him to suffer the way you did."

"No. I want him to suffer worse."

He didn't flinch. He didn't argue. He just nodded.

"Then we'll make him suffer worse."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For not telling me to be better."

He was quiet. Then he said, "I'm not here to make you better. I'm here to help you win."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how.

He reached for my hand. He didn't take it. He just rested his fingers near mine. Close enough to touch. Not touching.

"I'm with you," he said. "Whatever you need."

I looked at our hands. I looked at the evidence. I looked at the city outside the window.

"I need him destroyed," I said.

He nodded. "Then we'll destroy him."

We sat there. The evidence spread across the table. The photograph of Henry and Volkov watching us. The city hummed outside.

After a while, I leaned my head against his shoulder. He didn't move. He just let me.

We stayed there until the sun came up.