“Two hundred thousand first.”
His eyes practically lit up.
“And the rest?”
“After the first stage is properly accounted for.”
I closed the folder.
“If everything is clean, the remaining eight hundred thousand will follow.”
Godfrey looked at my mother.
I saw it.
The calculation behind his eyes.
Eight hundred thousand dollars.
He was already spending it.
Before I even left the room, he was probably imagining another business.
Another car.
Another house.
Another life.
But there was one thing he didn’t know.
The account they were about to touch wasn’t the settlement account.
It was a controlled account my lawyer had established specifically for the investigation.
Every transaction would be recorded.
Every withdrawal.
Every transfer.
Every signature.
Every conversation.
And I had already given my lawyer permission to monitor everything.
The trap had begun.
Three days later, the first two hundred thousand dollars appeared.
I made sure Selina received the confirmation.
She stared at the bank statement.
“It worked.”
I nodded.
“It did.”
Godfrey came running into the room.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
He grinned.
“Brother, this changes everything.”
I looked at him.
“What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing crazy.”
He laughed.
“Maybe expand the shop.”
“Of course.”
“Buy better equipment.”
“Of course.”
“Maybe invest in property.”
“Good idea.”
Then he made his mistake.
“I could finally pay off what I owe.”
I stared at him.
“What do you owe?”
He hesitated.
“Business debts.”
I nodded.
“Right.”
That evening, I received the first report from my lawyer.
A transfer had been made.
Forty thousand dollars.
To a company owned by Godfrey.
Another twenty-five thousand.
To an account connected to the auto shop.
Then fifteen thousand.
Cash withdrawal.
I wasn’t surprised.
But then I saw another transfer.
Thirty thousand dollars.
To a woman named Maribel Kane.
I stared at the name.
I had never heard it.
I called my lawyer.
“Who is she?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Keep going.”
An hour later, he called back.
“Damian, you need to sit down.”
“I’m sitting.”
“The woman is connected to the man in the photograph.”
My heart stopped.
“What man?”
“The photograph your wife found.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who is he?”
My lawyer paused.
“His name is Elias Kane.”
The name meant nothing.
Then he continued.
“He died fourteen years ago.”
I frowned.
“Who was he?”
“That’s the problem.”
There was silence.
“Your mother listed him as your father’s business partner.”
