Richard’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his cane.

“Those accounts are private,” Richard said.

“They were private,” Hayes corrected him, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Until Nathan’s birthday last week, which triggered the automatic audit clause in your late wife’s estate trust.”

Nathan frowned, looking at the top sheet of paper in the folder.

“What is this, Hayes?” Nathan asked.

“It is a series of wire transfers, Nathan,” Hayes said.

“All of them made within the last four months.”

“And all of them signed off by your father’s personal digital key.”

I watched Richard’s face.

For a fraction of a second, the mask of supreme confidence slipped.

His jaw tightened, a small muscle twitching near his ear.

“These are standard corporate expenses,” Richard said, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars to a private medical consultant in upstate New York is not a standard expense,” Hayes said.

“Especially when that consultant is Dr. Aris, the man whose signature is on Emily’s forged medical records.”

The silence in the room became absolute.

Even the wind outside seemed to die down for a moment.