My breath hitched in my throat as my eyes scanned Liam’s neat, familiar handwriting across the crisp white paper.
“She isn’t who you think she is, Em,” the note continued, every word burning into my mind.
“For the past eighteen months, your sister Clara has been secretly funneling funds out of our family trust through a shell company registered in offshore accounts.”
I stared at the black-and-white bank statements attached behind the letter.
Dozens of transactions, ranging from five thousand to fifty thousand dollars, were clearly documented.
At the bottom of each wire transfer was a signature—a perfect, clever forgery of my own name, authorized using a duplicate set of my personal identification documents.
“Liam uncovered the paper trail two months ago,” his boss whispered, sitting down across from me with a solemn expression.
“He came to me because our firm handles forensic accounting. He was trying to build an airtight legal case to reclaim your life savings before confronting Clara.”
“He knew that if he accused her without irrefutable proof, she would liquidate the remaining accounts and vanish.”
My hands shook violently as I turned to the photographs tucked at the back of the envelope.
They weren’t images of business meetings or bank branches.
They were high-resolution surveillance photos showing Clara meeting covertly in dimly lit parking lots with a mechanic—the very mechanic who had serviced Liam’s car just forty-eight hours before his fatal crash.
