tone echoing across the quiet room. “She seemed entirely confident that the Whitmore name carried enough weight to bend the rules of reality.”
Daniel swallowed hard, glancing desperately around the long table at the directors he had handpicked for years. None of them met his gaze; they kept their heads down, staring intently at their private tablet screens.
Marcus Vance, the chief investigator, advanced from the corner of the room, holding a thick manila folder. He placed the folder directly in front of Evan, offering a crisp, respectful nod before stepping back.
Evan opened the folder, revealing several pages covered with bank account numbers, transaction hashes, and international wire confirmations. The room was so quiet that the faint rustle of the paper sounded like dry leaves scraping pavement.
“At six o’clock this morning,” Evan began, “Daniel attempted to transfer twelve million dollars to an offshore trust.” He looked directly at
