Chapter 10: The Smoking Gun
Inside the wall safe sat a single, leather-bound ledger with cracked spine and yellowed pages, alongside a small cassette tape labeled For David’s Eyes Only. David reached in, his fingers closing around the cold leather. It felt light, yet it carried enough weight to bring down a billion-dollar empire.
"Got it," David breathed, pulling the ledger out and handing it to Marcus, who immediately slipped it into a waterproof pouch inside his jacket.
Before David could grab the cassette tape, the study door clicked open.
The overhead lights flooded the room in a blinding glare. Evelyn stood in the doorway, draped in a silk robe, her blonde hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She didn't look surprised; she looked profoundly disappointed, as if walking in on a disobedient child breaking a house rule.
"I always knew you lacked the stomach for true leadership, David," Evelyn said calmly, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. "Slinking around the cellar like a common thief to steal papers from a dead man’s wall."
Marcus instinctively reached inside his jacket, but David raised a hand to stop him, stepping in front of the older journalist.
"You didn't just steal papers, Mother," David said, his voice ringing with a cold, steady authority that made Evelyn narrow her eyes. "You stole a life. You murdered my father because he wouldn't let you turn this company into a monument to your own greed."
Evelyn let out a dry, humorless laugh that echoed off the mahogany bookshelves. "Arthur was weak, David. He wanted to give away everything we built to ungrateful charities and labor unions. I preserved this family’s legacy. I secured your future. And you’re willing to throw it all away for a penniless girl who carries a child she’s not even fit to raise?"
"Clara is worth a thousand of your cold, dead accounts," David said, taking a step toward her. "And the game is over, Evelyn. We have the ledger. We have the wire transfer records to Dr. Thorne. The police are already reviewing the case file."
Evelyn’s smile didn't reach her eyes. She slowly reached into the pocket of her silk robe and pulled out a small, heavy silver key, holding it up between two manicured fingers.
"You have the ledger, David. But do you really think that’s the only copy?" she asked softly. "And do you really think the district attorney is going to prosecute his primary campaign donor based on a stolen notebook from a dead man's wall?"
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Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the study flew open behind Evelyn, and two burly men in dark suits stepped into the room, their expressions blank and threatening.
"Take the ledger back," Evelyn commanded coldly. "And make sure Mr. Thorne finds a permanent home in the cellar below."
