NV.

Nathan Vance.

He was laundering my family’s trust money through his mistress’s design firm.

The remaining ten percent stayed in Sloane’s account as her fee.

It was a systematic, cold-blooded embezzlement scheme.

They were stripping my family’s legacy bare.

My unborn daughter’s future was being stolen to fund their new life together.

A cold, quiet anger settled deep in my stomach.

The fear evaporated.

I took out my phone and began taking steady, clear photos of every page.

The spreadsheets, the signatures, the wire transfer codes.

I sent them all to Margaret Crane.

Her reply was almost instant.

“This is the proof we needed,” Margaret texted.

“This is grand larceny and breach of fiduciary duty.”

“What is the next step?” I typed.

“We need to present this to the trust’s board,” Margaret replied.

“They have the power to remove Nathan from the trust immediately and freeze his accounts.”

I stared at the phone screen.

The five board members were old friends of my grandfather.

They had known me since I was a child.

They would be outraged by this betrayal.

“I will invite them here,” I texted.