I had spent nearly every evening there.
So had Ethan.
I pictured the receptionist.
The mailroom shelf.
Boxes stacked against unfinished walls.
An envelope addressed to me.
A ledger connected to my dead father.
And Ethan.
“Who signed for it?” I whispered.
Liam’s answer was almost too quiet to hear.
“Ethan.”
I turned away.
“No.”
“Maya—”
“No.”
The word came out harder.
I had spent years studying fraudulent transactions.
I knew exactly how people reacted when a pattern finally became visible.
First, denial.
Not because the evidence was weak.
Because the evidence was too strong.
I looked back at Liam.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I called.”
“You should have kept calling!”
“I did!”
The force of his answer silenced me.
Liam stood abruptly.
“I called eleven times in three days. Ethan answered twice. He said you were overwhelmed. Then you called me and told me to stop interfering in your relationship.”
