My phone buzzed with an unknown number. “Julian? It’s Claire.”
My sister’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but laced with an urgency I hadn’t heard in years. “Meet me at the old coffee shop downtown. The one near the library. Thirty minutes. Alone.”
The coffee shop smelled of stale espresso and old books. Claire sat at a corner table, a simple tote bag beside her, looking as unassuming as ever. But her eyes, usually so calm, held a fire I recognized.
“I heard about Finch’s deposition,” she said without preamble, pushing a steaming mug across the table. “Good work getting him to crack.”
I just nodded, taking a sip. “What’s going on, Claire? Why the sudden interest?”
She reached into her bag, pulling out a small, encrypted external hard drive. It gleamed dully under the dim lights. “Arthur isn’t just cutting corners, Julian. He’s been systematically stripping assets, for years.”
My breath hitched. “Years?”
“Eight months, specifically,” she clarified, her voice barely audible over the clatter of a dropped plate from the kitchen. “That’s how long I’ve been recording his board calls. Every one of them.”
Twist 2. My own sister, working from within. All this time, she’d been silently observing, collecting, preparing. A cold tremor ran down my spine, a mix of shock and reluctant admiration.
“This drive,” she continued, pushing it closer. “It has everything. Internal ledgers, communications. Proof Garrick Finch was paid off. Not just a one-time thing, but regular transfers to an offshore account in the Caymans. They funneled money through a shell corporation Arthur set up last year. Every detail, every transaction ID, every date.”
I stared at the drive, then at her. “Why now, Claire?”
She looked away, her gaze settling on a rain-streaked window. “Because I saw what he was doing to Mom’s legacy. And I saw what he was doing to you. Someone had to stop him.”
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