“I can talk.”
Priya looked at me.
“You have two fractured ribs, a concussion, and significant soft tissue injuries. Talking to a detective is your decision, but you don’t have to prove anything tonight.”
The old instinct rose immediately.
I do have to prove it.
I had spent most of my adult life assembling evidence.
Numbers did not care who told the better story.
Bank transfers either occurred or they didn’t.
Accounts existed.
Signatures appeared.
Money moved.
Facts stayed still long enough to be documented.
People were harder.
People believed charm.
Status.
A clean suit.
A donation plaque.
I looked at Detective Ruiz.
“My brother has files.”
Liam’s eyes shifted toward me.
Ruiz pulled the visitor’s chair closer.
“What kind of files?”
“Photographs. Messages. Financial records.”
“Financial records related to the assault?”
“Related to Ethan.”
Liam leaned forward.
“Maya.”
I recognized the warning in his voice.
