Chapter 8
The living room grew deathly quiet, save for the distant wail of police sirens drifting up from the street. Agent Vance lowered her digital tablet slightly, her sharp eyes locking onto Mark as he stood near the oversized windows. The blue light from his smartphone screen had finally gone dark, leaving his face partially shadowed in the late afternoon sun.
"Mark Vance," the marshal said, her voice carrying a formal, chilling weight that echoed off the high ceilings.
Mark swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He kept his hands visible, holding his phone loosely in his right palm. He had anticipated this moment since the first file was uploaded, yet hearing his full name spoken by a federal officer felt like a physical blow.
"I'm here," Mark answered, his voice remarkably steady despite the adrenaline hammering against his ribs. "I cooperated with the upload. I initiated the data transfer to the investigator portal."
"You did," Agent Vance confirmed, taking two deliberate steps toward him. She glanced down at his phone before meeting his eyes again. "And that action is precisely what flagged your IP address as an active participant in the secondary routing network used to launder the foundation's overseas grants."
Elena, who was currently being helped to her feet by a marshal near the stairs, let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "See? I told you! He's just as dirty as the rest of us. He bought the Chicago property with the exact same slush fund!"
"Be quiet, Elena," Arthur snapped from his position against the kitchen island, though his own hands were now secured behind his back with heavy plastic zip-ties.
Mark didn't look at either of them. He kept his gaze locked on the federal agent. "The Chicago property was an acquisition for a community veteran center. Every dollar was accounted for in the board minutes."
"Board minutes that were systematically altered by legal counsel using your administrative login credentials, Mr. Vance," Agent Vance stated, tapping her tablet to pull up a secondary file. She turned the screen slightly so Mark could see a detailed access log. "Your digital signature was used to approve thirty-two unauthorized fund transfers between twenty-twenty and twenty-twenty-three. Legally speaking, you're the primary signatory on the account that received the bulk of the embezzled capital."
Mark stared at the glowing screen, the blood draining completely from his face. The digital signature was indisputably his, complete with his biometric authentication hash. He looked across the room toward his grandmother, expecting to see shock or betrayal on her face.
Instead, Clara stood calmly by the center of the room, her hand resting lightly on the head of her wooden cane. Her expression was completely unreadable, devoid of surprise, guilt, or remorse.
"Grandma," Mark whispered, the horror finally sinking in. "You had my login credentials. You were the only other person with access to the secure terminal in the study."
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Clara met his gaze with unblinking eyes, her shoulders back inside the faded green military jacket adorned with tarnished service badges. "Sometimes, Mark, the mission requires a sacrifice in the ranks. You did what the uniform demanded."
Before Mark could process the horrifying implication of her words, Agent Vance stepped forward, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from her tactical belt with a metallic click.
