“The destination is a shell company registered in Delaware,” Daniel continued, pointing to a node on the screen. “And the sole beneficiary of that shell company is Vance Harrison’s development firm.”

The two quiet board members leaned forward, their brows furrowing as they stared at the screen.

Vance didn’t move from the window, but his knuckles turned white where he gripped his leather notebook.

“This is absurd,” Graham said, standing up. “These are standard investment reallocations.”

“Standard reallocations don’t involve forged signatures on waiver documents,” Rachel said, pulling a second set of papers from her bag.

“We have the digital signature metadata from the waiver filed thirty minutes ago.”

“It was routed from Margaret’s personal IP address, using a security token that was revoked three months ago,” Rachel added.

I looked at Vance, whose eyes were darting between Daniel’s laptop and the door.

He looked like a man calculating the exact cost of his association with my husband.

“You used my mother’s life’s work to fund your failing downtown project,” I said to Vance. “And you used my husband’s greed to get the land at a fraction of its value.”