I turned to the clerk. “I have a digital exhibit to present. It contains the forensic trail of the assets Mr. Reeves attempted to hide over the last eighteen months. It also contains… other things.”
Within minutes, the courtroom’s monitors flickered to life. I saw the tech in the back—a young guy with glasses—look at me with a sudden, dawning respect. He knew the Vance name. He probably used my code.
The first screen wasn’t a bank statement. It was a video.
The timestamp was from three months ago. It was the interior of Julian’s private office at the Reeves Plaza. The resolution was 4K—the kind of quality you only get when you’ve designed the security system yourself.
Julian was on screen, sitting at his desk. Vanessa was draped over the back of his chair, her fingers playing with his hair.
“She has no idea,” Julian’s voice came through the speakers, crisp and arrogant. “By the time the divorce hits, I’ll have the Aegis IP moved to the new shell company. She’ll be left with the house and a monthly check that barely covers the twins’ tuition. She’s too soft to fight, Vanessa. She’s spent ten years forgetting she has a spine.”
Vanessa giggled—a sound that made everyone in the room flinch. “And the kids? You really want them full-time?”
“God, no,” Julian said, sipping a scotch. “But I’ll use them as leverage. She’ll sign away her remaining shares just to keep them from having to spend weekends with a ‘nanny.’ It’s the perfect play.”
The silence that followed the video was different from before. It wasn’t the silence of shock; it was the silence of a funeral.
CLIFFHANGER: I looked at Julian, whose face had turned a bruised shade of purple, and I realized I wasn’t done. “That was just the appetizer, Julian. Let’s look at the main course: the offshore transfers.”
