Chapter 13 - Seven Days to the Hearing
The deadline transformed every decision.
Richard's award ceremony and the migration of Halcyon's records were scheduled for the same day.
We had seven days to preserve the evidence before a mass transfer could complicate authentication.
I asked the team to separate every allegation into what was proven, what was supported, and what remained speculation.
It felt almost absurd to be methodical when my family had spent decades teaching me that truth depended on who spoke loudest.
But the discipline mattered.
We secured copies from a separate payment processor and requested testimony from employees who had been afraid to come forward.
Two agreed.
One withdrew after receiving a warning that her pension could be reviewed.
We documented the threat.
Richard went on television again.
This time he suggested that I had become involved with a shadowy group using classified information for personal revenge.
He never named my assignment.
He could not know it.
That uncertainty made his insinuations more dangerous.
A lie without details gave listeners room to imagine whatever they feared.
Vance advised me to avoid responding publicly.
I wanted to tell the world about the child he'd made eat dinner alone while everyone else celebrated.
I wanted to explain the gin and tonic, the false diagnoses, the endless insults.
But the investigation was not a platform for settling my childhood.
I stayed silent.
On the fourth day, June identified a former Halcyon bookkeeper who kept a private backup.
On the fifth, our financial analysts connected payouts to an account controlled by an entity in which Richard held a beneficial interest.
On the sixth, Tyler contacted me from a prepaid phone.
“Dad knows about the blue copy,” he said.
“Are you safe?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
He named a motel two counties away.
I insisted that any meeting involve the investigators and legal safeguards.
He agreed reluctantly.
Then he said, “I helped him, Claire.”
My throat tightened.
“How much?”
“More than I can fix.”
In the background, a door opened.
Tyler whispered, “If I don't make it, look at the last page.”
The line went dead.
At the motel, the team found a torn legal pad and a fresh cup of coffee.
No Tyler.
Written across the pad were three words.
ASK YOUR GENERAL.
May you like
The hearing was less than twenty-four hours away.
