“The signature is Claire’s,” Evan said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Our forensic document examiner spent the afternoon comparing these to Claire’s actual signature on her father’s trust documents,” Lydia said.

“The pen pressure, the stroke origin, and the spacing are an exact match for your own handwriting, Evan,” Lydia said.

“Furthermore, Brantley kept a private ledger,” Lydia continued, turning the page. “He recorded the actual cash payouts.”

“Every single payment for these stolen bottles went into an offshore account in the Cayman Islands,” Lydia said.

“An account registered solely under the name of Evan Hayes,” she said, looking up at him.

The dining room went completely silent.

Even the hum of the refrigerator seemed to die away.

Vivian sank slowly back into her chair, her face draining of color.

“Evan?” Vivian whispered, her voice cracking.

Evan didn’t look at his mother.

He stared at the scanned ledgers on the table as if they were a death warrant.

“Brantley has already signed a sworn affidavit,” Lydia said. “He admits you brought him the bottles in batches, starting two weeks after Mr. Hayes died.”