“My mother’s,” he whispered. “She told me if I didn’t get them back, she’d let the federal prosecutors have my signature on the shell company documents. She said she’d put me in prison herself.”

I leaned closer to the glass, my breath fogging the surface slightly.

He was giving up the details.

The cracks in the Thorne empire were finally widening.

“Tell me about the shell companies, Gareth,” the detective said, leaning forward.

Gareth took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the metal table.

“She uses them to move the money from the port developments,” he said. “The ones that were supposed to be demolished. We kept the state funding, but we never built anything. She moved the cash to accounts in Panama.”

“And who authorized those transfers?” the detective asked.

“She did,” Gareth said. “But she made me sign the wire transfers. She told me it was just standard procedure.”

He was sobbing now, a pathetic, broken sound that echoed through the small speaker in the observation room.

My phone vibrated in my coat pocket.