Chapter 3 - Decoding the Sins
The moment the heavy doors of our Manhattan penthouse locked behind us, the illusion shattered. Elias immediately went to the master bathroom, applying the solvent to dissolve the adhesives. I went straight to the secure study, booting up the encrypted laptop Elias had provided.
When Elias emerged, his face red from the scrubbing but beautifully unmasked, he poured two glasses of scotch and handed me one.
"Did you see Julian's face when I mentioned the auditors?" Elias asked, leaning over the back of my leather chair. His proximity sent a jolt through my nervous system.
"He was terrified," I confirmed, taking a sip of the burning liquid. "He knows the Southeast Asian routes are a front. That's where they funnel the money from the illegal cargo. I'm running the decryption software on the drives now."
The progress bar on the screen crawled to 100%. A massive directory of folders blossomed onto the screen.
For the next four hours, we sat side-by-side in the dimly lit study, tracing the digital blood trail. My father hadn't just framed Elias's family; he had systematically hollowed out the Vance fleet, transferring the clean assets to dummy corporations while leaving the Vance name attached to the smuggled goods.
"Look at this," I whispered, pointing to a scanned document from twelve years ago. "The safety inspector's report. The signature is forged. Julian signed it himself. His handwriting always tilts sharply on the vowels."
Elias stared at the screen, his jaw tight. "This was the report that cost my father his license. This was the lie that pushed him over the edge."
I looked up at Elias. The cold billionaire facade was gone; in its place was a son grieving a father whose life had been stolen. Without thinking, I reached out and covered his hand with mine. His muscles were tense, coiled like a spring, but he didn't pull away.
"We have them, Elias," I said softly. "This is premeditated fraud, racketeering, and corporate manslaughter. We just need to guide the feds to the door."
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He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. The touch was electric, a stark contrast to the sterile, terrifying grip of Silas Thorne.
"We don't just hand it to the feds," Elias said, his eyes burning with dark intent. "We make them bleed first. We strip them of everything they hold dear—their money, their reputation, their pride. We make them feel exactly what my family felt."
