Not the petty, impulsive kind men stash when they think they’re being clever. This was structured. Layered. Routed through a new LLC registered under Margaret Callaway—Henry’s wife. The paper distance was meant to look clean. The timing was not. Three transfers, just under the threshold that would have made certain internal controls louder, all within the same three-week window after I filed.
My pulse settled in a way that would sound strange to anyone who didn’t understand me. Fear sharpened me. Numbers steadied me.
“He told you to process these?” I asked.
Tobias nodded. “He told me not to put them through the regular system. Said it was temporary restructuring.”
“It’s concealment.”
“I figured.”
I kept flipping.
Then I saw a billing code for outside legal work routed through the firm’s internal expense ledger and my eyes narrowed.
“He used firm resources.”
“Some of them,” Tobias said. “There’s more.”
The waitress came by with coffee I hadn’t ordered. Tobias didn’t touch his.
“What else?”
He looked down at the table, then at me. “Brooke Kensington is pregnant.”
The words sat there for a second, stupid and flat.
Pregnant.