She held a thick stack of printed pages in her hand.

“The forensic audit does not merely show financial irregularities.”

“It details a systematic program of industrial espionage directed by Callum Prescott.”

I looked back at my phone, scrolling down to page fourteen.

The words seemed to burn into the screen.

There were transcripts of intercepted phone calls between competitors.

There were private investigator invoices for tracking the personal lives of state senators.

Every invoice was paid from a discretionary fund that Callum personally controlled.

The audit also revealed a series of wire transfers to a shell company in Panama.

These payments matched the exact dates when Prescott Global secured its exclusive shipping routes in South America.

They were bribes, documented with the cold precision of an accountant who knew he was recording a crime.

“This is a smear campaign,” Callum muttered.

His voice was loud enough to carry across the well of the courtroom.

“Silence, Mr. Prescott,” Judge Mallory said, her voice freezing the air.

Callum did not stop.

He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the marble floor.