Chapter 15
"He used your name," Patricia said, "but he couldn't do it without also leaving his own fingerprints on the authorization chain.
He probably assumed no one would ever pull hard enough to find them." She leaned back.
"He assumed wrong."
Martin poured himself more coffee.
"How long to document this fully?"
"Completely?
Weeks.
Enough to take to the financial crimes division and request an emergency asset freeze?
I can have that ready by nine tomorrow morning."
Harold looked at the screen for a long moment.
"Do it," he said.
They worked through the night.
At six thirty, Harold stepped into the hallway to stretch his legs and stood at the window looking at the street below.
The city was just beginning to come awake.
A bakery across the road was turning on its lights.
Anna came and stood beside him.
"He's going to say I forged Thomas's notes," she said.
"He's going to say I manipulated you.
He's going to make it about the fact that I disappeared and came back with a sick story and a convenient envelope."
"Let him say it."
"People will listen, Dad.
He's been charming them for twenty years."
Harold watched the bakery's light spread across the sidewalk below.
"He made one mistake," Harold said.
"He built everything on the assumption that I would never find you.
Or that if I did, I wouldn't believe you." He looked at her.
"He was wrong about the only thing that mattered."
At eight fifty-three, Martin's phone rang.
He listened, said three words, and hung up.
"Victor is in the lobby," he said.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
"He came here?" Anna said.
"He's asking to speak with Harold.
Alone." Martin looked at Harold.
"I'd recommend against alone."
"Agreed." Harold straightened his jacket.
May you like
"Tell them to send him up."
Victor Walton walked into the conference room two minutes later.
