Ethan stopped laughing.
“I visited a clinic this morning,” I said calmly. “Photographs. Medical documentation. Time stamps. Witness statements.”
Evelyn grabbed his arm. “Say nothing.”
Too late.
“She provoked me!” Ethan shouted.
The officer sighed softly. “Sir, I need you to come with me.”
“No.” Ethan backed away. “This is my house!”
“This house,” I said, “was purchased through my trust years before I met you. You signed the occupancy agreement without reading it because you called contracts ‘boring.’”
His eyes darted toward his mother.
For the first time in his life, he looked afraid.
The forensic accountant placed another folder on the entry table.
“We also uncovered unauthorized transfers connected to accounts controlled by Mrs. Whitmore.”
Ethan stared at Evelyn. “Mother?”
Her expression hardened instantly. “I did what was necessary.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You stole what wasn’t yours.”
The officer escorted Ethan outside while he shouted my name like it still belonged to him.
