The hunt for Arthur’s financial misdeeds led us down a rabbit hole of outdated banking systems. We needed concrete proof of the $14,000,000 that vanished from the child-actor trust, the money I was convinced was my inheritance, stolen to fund Arthur’s empire.
Maya managed to track down a retired studio accountant, a man named George Ellison, living a quiet life in Pasadena. He was a relic from a bygone era, a man who still understood microfiche and ledger entries in a world of digital transactions. He’d kept meticulous records, not out of loyalty to Arthur, but out of a personal obsession with financial order.
“Old George still keeps everything,” Maya had said, a glint in her eye. “He thinks digital storage is a fad.”
After a long drive and a surprisingly pleasant afternoon of listening to George reminisce about classic Hollywood, he handed us a stack of digitized microfiche records. Yellowed and brittle, they represented the financial backbone of Garrick Studios in the crucial years after the 2004 fire.
I spread the documents across Maya’s desk, my hands almost trembling. This was it. The proof.
What we found, however, wasn’t what I expected. The $14,000,000 removed from the child-actor trust was there, clear as day. The three distinct wire transfers Maya had identified earlier were meticulously recorded. But they weren’t funneled into offshore shell corporations, as I had always assumed.
Instead, the cash was disbursed in exact, round payments: $4,000,000, $5,000,000, and another $5,000,000. Each payment was registered to private accounts.
Maya’s finger traced the first recipient. “Independent forensic expert, name redacted for privacy, but listed as ‘Arson Investigations, LLC.'”
My stomach dropped. “Arson Investigations?”
“The second,” she continued, “was to a ‘Structural Integrity and Engineering Consultancy,’ again, an independent firm.”
“And the third?” I demanded, my voice tight.
Maya paused, her eyes scanning the faded text. “The third… is registered to a private account under the name of ‘Harold Finch,’ identified in the footnotes as a ‘retired city fire marshal, formerly of the LAFD.'”
A retired city fire marshal. My mind reeled. This wasn’t a corporate cover-up for stolen funds. This was something far more specific. Arthur hadn’t stolen the money for himself. He had used it to buy silence, to manipulate the truth, yes, but not to line his own pockets in the way I’d always believed.
“He bribed them,” I said, the words heavy and cold. “He paid off the investigators. The fire marshal. He manufactured the ‘unforeseeable electrical malfunction’ report, and he used my inheritance to do it.”
“The payments are dated immediately after the official investigation was concluded and the report released,” Maya confirmed, cross-referencing the microfiche with news archives. “Within two weeks of the November 2004 fire.”
It wasn’t about Arthur keeping the money. It was about Arthur *spending* the money to control the narrative. This proved he had orchestrated the entire cover-up, manipulating the very officials sworn to uncover the truth. The amount, the specific recipients – it was undeniable.
“This is it, Maya,” I declared, a grim satisfaction settling over me. “This proves everything. He didn’t just set the fire; he bought the silence of everyone who could expose him. He used my own money to bury the truth about my father’s death.”
Maya looked at the documents, then at me. “It proves he spent a lot of money to control the outcome of the investigation, Julian. It doesn’t necessarily prove he set the fire himself. Or what he was trying to hide.”
I shook my head, my conviction unshaken. “He was hiding his guilt. His role in my father’s death. This isn’t just embezzlement, Maya. This is active obstruction of justice, bribing public officials. It’s far worse than I imagined. And now, we have the paper trail to prove it.”
The truth was darker, more intricate than I’d imagined, but the path to Arthur’s public downfall seemed clearer than ever.
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