Chapter 6: Kincaid’s Confession

The scent of strong coffee filled Alistair Finch’s office, but I barely registered it.

My mind was still reeling from the revelation of Serena Vance.

Alistair, ever the pragmatist, immediately shifted focus.

“We need to address Nathan,” he stated, his voice firm, the paternal warmth now replaced by a steelier resolve.

“The man who has been gaslighting you, and now, we discover, possibly implicating you in his schemes.”

He looked at Kenji Tanaka, who stood silently by the door.

“Kenji, bring Silas Kincaid to me.”

Kenji nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and slipped out of the room.

“Silas Kincaid is a hospital accountant,” Alistair explained to me.

“He’s known for his… flexibility with numbers. If Nathan has been manipulating funds, Kincaid is the man who would know about it, and likely be complicit.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Kenji returned, ushering in a nervous-looking man in a rumpled suit.

Silas Kincaid was a portly individual, his face pale, his eyes darting around the opulent office like a trapped animal.

He swallowed hard when he saw Alistair Finch seated behind his formidable desk, Kenji standing guard.

And then, he saw me.

His eyes widened in recognition, and a fresh wave of panic washed over his face.

“Mr. Kincaid,” Alistair began, his voice calm, but with an underlying edge of authority that brooked no argument.

“Thank you for joining us. We need to discuss certain financial irregularities concerning Dr. Nathan Rourke.”

Kincaid wrung his hands, his gaze flicking to me again.

“Irregularities, Mr. Finch?” he stammered.

“I assure you, all our books are in order.”

“Are they, now?” Alistair asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Because we have information suggesting otherwise. Specifically, a substantial charitable donation from a prominent patient, which appears to have been… rerouted.”

Kincaid’s face paled further, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Let me be clear, Mr. Kincaid,” Alistair continued, his voice dropping slightly.

“The Finch Medical Group takes financial misconduct very seriously. Especially when it involves our donors. And especially when it implicates innocent parties.”

He gestured subtly in my direction.

Kincaid flinched, his gaze falling away from me.

“Dr. Rourke’s wife, in fact,” Alistair added, twisting the knife.

“Amelia here, whose dormant foundation account seems to have been used as a shell for some rather questionable transactions.”

The color drained from Kincaid’s face.

His breath hitched.

“Dormant account?” Alistair pressed.

“An inactive foundation that Dr. Rourke knew about, knew was under his wife’s name. Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

Kincaid visibly crumbled under the pressure.

His eyes darted from Alistair to Kenji, who remained impassive, a silent, imposing guardian.

There was no physical intimidation, just the sheer, overwhelming weight of Alistair Finch’s authority and Kenji’s silent menace.

“It… it wasn’t my idea,” Kincaid finally blurted out, his voice a desperate squeak.

“Dr. Rourke… he pushed me. He made me do it.”

Alistair leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering.

“Made you do what, Mr. Kincaid?” he prompted, his voice deceptively gentle.

Kincaid took a shaky breath, his resolve completely gone.

“The donation,” he confessed, his voice barely audible.

“Alistair. A wealthy patient, Mr. Sterling. His final gift to the hospital. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

My eyes widened.

A quarter of a million dollars.

“Nathan… Dr. Rourke, he insisted I divert fifty thousand of it,” Kincaid continued, tears welling in his eyes.

“To cover… to cover some of his personal expenses. And to ‘prime’ some grant applications. He called it ‘strategic allocation’.”

“And the shell account?” Alistair asked, his voice now colder.

“He told me to put it through Dr. Rourke’s wife’s old foundation,” Kincaid admitted, his head bowed in shame.

“He said it was ‘off the books’ and that ‘she wouldn’t notice, she never checks it anyway’. And it would give him plausible deniability if anyone ever looked too closely.”

My blood ran cold.

Nathan hadn’t just used my name as leverage with Elena; he had actually used my inactive foundation to funnel stolen money.

He had framed me.

Made it look as if I was complicit in his financial fraud.

The depth of his manipulation, his callous disregard for my name, my professional integrity, was staggering.

“And how many other ‘strategic allocations’ have there been, Mr. Kincaid?” Alistair asked, his voice like ice.

Kincaid whimpered.

“Just… just a few others. Smaller ones. All for Dr. Rourke. For his ‘career development’.”

He looked up, tears streaming down his face.

“Please, Mr. Finch, I have a family. He threatened me. He said he’d ruin me.”

Alistair looked at Kenji, who gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

“Kenji will be taking your full statement, Mr. Kincaid,” Alistair stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Every detail. Every transaction. And we will need every piece of evidence you have.”

Kincaid nodded frantically, desperate to comply.

“Yes, anything. I’ll tell you everything. I have the records, hidden backups…”

As Kenji led a sniffling Kincaid out of the room, the silence that followed was heavy with the weight of Nathan’s betrayal.

My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms.

He hadn’t just undermined me; he had actively used me, making me an unwitting accessory to his crimes.

He had planned my downfall, just as he had meticulously planned every step of his own ascent.

“He made it look like I was involved,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips.

“He would have let me take the fall.”

Alistair sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“A truly ruthless man, Amelia,” he said, his gaze fixed on the city below.

“He knew you wouldn’t check the account. He knew your quiet nature. He exploited it all.”

The revelation from Kincaid solidified everything Elena had hinted at, everything my own paranoia had whispered.

Nathan’s gaslighting wasn’t just cruel; it was a calculated weapon, used to keep me compliant, to keep me silent, to make me doubt myself so profoundly that I wouldn’t question his actions.

And now, I had the evidence.

The microfiche, Elena’s testimony, and Kincaid’s coerced confession.

It was enough.

More than enough.

My new father turned to me, his expression grave.

“This is not just about justice, Amelia,” he said.

“It’s about preventing further harm. Nathan Rourke needs to be stopped.”

A cold resolve settled in my heart, displacing the fear and the lingering self-doubt.

Nathan had pushed me too far.

He had underestimated me for the last time.

The quiet, underestimated woman he had sought to control was now armed with the truth, and a very powerful ally.