Chapter 4: The Silent Witness

The next morning, Oliver’s face was grim over breakfast. He didn’t say a word about his late-night excursion.

“I need to find Arthur Pendelton,” he announced, stirring his tea.

My spoon clattered onto my plate. Arthur Pendelton. Mark’s former business partner. They’d had a bitter split seven years ago, Arthur retiring abruptly from their joint venture.

“Why Arthur?” I asked, my voice cautious.

“I think he knows something about Dad’s early deals. Something that could help us.” Oliver met my gaze, a new resolve in his eyes.

I watched him go, knowing he was chasing a ghost. Arthur had disappeared from the London scene, living a quiet life somewhere.

Oliver, however, was tenacious. He spent the entire day on his laptop, digging through old company registries, LinkedIn profiles, and obscure online forums.

He found an old address for Arthur in a small village near Berkshire.

That afternoon, he drove out, finding Arthur at a quiet roadside cafe, nursing a cup of tea. Arthur Pendelton was older now, his hair thinner, his movements slower.

Oliver slid into the opposite chair. “Mr. Pendelton, my name is Oliver Finch. Mark Finch’s son.”

Arthur’s hand visibly trembled, rattling his teacup. He looked up, his eyes wide, a flicker of fear crossing his face.

“I know about Chloe Davies’s startup,” Oliver continued, laying out printouts of the bank transfers he’d found in Mark’s studio. “And how my university fund was drained to finance it.”

Arthur stared at the bank statements, his face paling. He reached for a sugar sachet, tearing it open with trembling fingers, but didn’t add it to his tea.

“Mark always said you retired due to ill health,” Oliver pressed. “But these payments… from Finch Holdings, dated after your retirement. What were they for?”

Arthur looked at the figures, specifically the “consultancy fees” that ran for two years after his supposed retirement. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Silence money,” Arthur mumbled, his voice raspy. “For seven years, I kept my mouth shut.”

He finally looked at Oliver, guilt etched on his face. “Mark wasn’t just sharp, he was ruthless. He forged signatures on early property loans, shifted profits to offshore accounts to avoid tax. I tried to stop him, but he threatened me, my family.”

“You have proof?” Oliver asked, leaning forward, his voice barely a whisper.

Arthur nodded slowly. “I kept a ledger. A secret ledger. From 2017. Every transaction, every forged signature. Everything.”

He looked around the quiet cafe, then back at Oliver. “I was a fool. Thought I could live with it.”

“Would you be willing to sign an affidavit?” Oliver pushed, “Detailing everything?”

Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m retiring properly next month. Moving to Spain. Maybe it’s time to clear my conscience.”

He stood up, his posture straighter than it had been a moment before. “Come to my place. I’ll get the ledger. And I’ll sign whatever you need.”