PART 3

Arthur Barlowe’s letter felt heavier than paper.

I read the sentence again.

“Now protect yourself.”

But from what?

The city below had already returned to its normal rhythm.

I slipped the letter into my blazer pocket.

The boardroom was empty now, except for the lingering smell of burnt coffee.

Then my phone buzzed.

Private number.

“Ms. Hayes? This is Arthur Barlowe.”

His voice was calm and measured, exactly as it had been that morning.

“I need to see you tonight. Alone.”

“About what?”

“About the second ledger.”

My grip tightened.

“There’s a second ledger?”

“Claire’s father kept two sets of records. The first one I gave you showed the original deposits. The second one lists the names of everyone who profited from that money. Including your father.”

The city noise beyond the glass seemed to disappear.

“If my father’s name is in it, why would you help me?”

“Because my name is in it too.”

He paused.

“That’s why I buried the case twenty-nine years ago.”

The call ended.

I stood there holding the phone, feeling his confession settle over me.

Arthur Barlowe—the same lawyer who had drafted my grandfather’s trust—had also helped bury the crime behind the fortune.