My assets were secure, hidden behind three layers of shell corporations that no Ralston lawyer could ever touch.

My phone buzzed on the mahogany desk.

It was an email from Frank.

The sender of the anonymous call was a former chief financial officer for my father’s old company.

The email contained a PDF attachment.

I opened the document.

It was a bank ledger from twelve years ago, showing a transfer of eight million dollars.

The destination account belonged to a trust registered in the Cayman Islands under the name of Gloria Ralston.

My hand trembled slightly as I scrolled through the pages.

The signature at the bottom of the authorization form was my father’s, but it was forged.

I could see the slight hesitation in the ink, the way the curve of the ‘J’ did not match his actual handwriting.

Gloria had stolen the core of my father’s wealth while he was on his deathbed.

She had used that stolen money to fund Graham’s early, failed business ventures.

I forwarded the document to my attorney, Marcus.

“We have them,” I wrote in the subject line.