“I want to get this resolved as quickly as possible,” I said, sitting down.

Vincent sat beside me, his presence a silent anchor in the sterile room.

Harris opened the folder, revealing several bank statements and copies of the forged documents.

“We have traced the funds Derek Cole used to pay the probate clerk,” Harris explained.

“They originated from an offshore account that he established using your father’s stolen credentials.”

“Will those funds be returned to the estate?” I asked.

“Yes,” Harris said.

“The courts have already initiated the recovery process.”

“And Derek?” I asked.

“His bail has been denied,” Harris said.

“Given his attempt to flee and the shooting incident last night, he will remain in custody until the trial.”

“He is facing a minimum of fifteen years for the federal fraud charges alone.”

I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, so sudden and physical that I had to catch my breath.

Fifteen years.

By then, I would have rebuilt my life entirely.

“Thank you, Agent Harris,” I said.

We spent the next two hours signing statements and reviewing the official inventory of my father’s assets.