“Vance promised Graham a massive payout once the foundation was dissolved,” I read. “They used North Star to disguise the transactions as legitimate consulting fees.”

Daniel took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

“That explains the complexity of the transfers,” Daniel said. “Graham doesn’t have the financial mind to build a shell network like that.”

“Vance does,” I said. “He’s been doing this to smaller charities for years.”

My mother’s letter went on to detail the exact bank accounts Vance used in Grand Cayman.

She had documented every meeting she discovered between Graham and Vance at the yacht club.

“She knew everything,” I whispered. “She was going to the police the week she died.”

“We have the proof now, Claire,” Daniel said, touching my shoulder. “This letter, combined with the ledger, links them directly.”

He shined his flashlight on the leather book, turning to the pages detailing the preservation land.

The Hart Family Foundation owned three thousand acres of pristine coastal forest.

My mother had sworn to never let it be developed.

“Wait,” Daniel said, his brow furrowing as he looked at the maps tucked into the back of the ledger.