It was a corporate registry for a company called ‘B.P. Enterprises.’

“Brielle,” I said, reading the name of the sole shareholder.

“Your stepsister’s boutique and her apartment in Austin were funded entirely through this entity,” Voss said. “Dorian was funneling the stolen trust money directly to her.”

“And my mother?” I asked.

I looked at Voss, wanting him to tell me she had no part in it.

He looked down at his lap, his hands resting on the papers.

“She signed several of the secondary witness forms, Maren,” he said softly.

“She might not have known what she was signing,” I said, though the words tasted hollow in my mouth.

“Perhaps,” Voss said. “Or perhaps she simply did not want to look too closely at where the money was coming from.”

I looked back down at the journals.

The evidence was clear, organized, and indisputable.

Dorian had stripped the family estate of its liquid assets, leaving only the physical land, which he was now desperate to sell to cover his debts.

And my mother had helped him do it, or at least stood by while he did.