Chapter 7 - THE UNEXPECTED VISITORTwo weeks after the arrest, life had settled into a peaceful, rhythmic normal. The federal prosecutors had enough ironclad evidence from my forensic dossiers that Adrian’s defense attorneys were already begging for a plea deal, knowing a trial would result in maximum sentencing. Julian Vance had cut a deal to testify against Adrian in exchange for a slightly reduced sentence, officially destroying whatever toxic loyalty remained between the two conspirators.
I was working at my home office desk when the doorbell chimed.
Frowning slightly, I walked down the hallway and peered through the front security camera monitor. Standing on my porch was a woman I recognized instantly from Adrian’s company website—Clara Vance, Julian’s younger sister, who also worked as a junior PR consultant for Adrian’s startup.
She looked distressed, her makeup slightly smeared, wringing her hands nervously against her wool coat.
I unlocked the front door and pulled it open just enough to create a firm boundary, keeping my expression cool and guarded.
"Clara. What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Elena... I'm so sorry," she blurted out, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. "I had nothing to do with their plan! I swear to you, I didn't know about the asset theft until the federal agents raided our office last week!"
I studied her face for a moment, looking for any sign of deception. "Why are you coming to me, Clara? If you're looking for legal clemency or financial support, you're knocking on the very wrong door."
"No, I don't want your money," she said quickly, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a heavy, unmarked USB flash drive. She held it out toward me with shaking fingers. "I came to give you this. It's Adrian's private local backup drive. He kept it hidden in a floor safe at our secondary office space—the one the federal search teams missed because it was registered under an old commercial alias."
My eyes narrowed as I looked at the small black device. "What's on it?"
May you like
"Everything," Clara whispered. "Not just financial fraud. Communications with overseas investors, blackmail logs against local board members, and... documentation regarding how he engineered the buyout of your father’s old architectural firm years ago."
My heart skipped a beat. My father’s firm had gone bankrupt mysteriously right before he passed away—an event Adrian had always claimed was just "bad market timing."
