Chapter 5 - The Game Plan
Monica stood up from the sofa, taking an instinctive step toward me. "Jules, what does that mean? You can't fight a multi-million-dollar legal team and the federal government by yourself."
"Who said I'm by myself?" I asked, walking over to my desk and tapping the keyboard to wake up my monitoring software.
A complex web of financial ledgers, public registry data, and corporate audit trails filled the screen. For the past four years, alongside my audio editing work, I had quietly freelanced as a digital researcher for investigative journalists exposing white-collar corruption. I knew how to trace money, how to unmask shell companies, and—most importantly—how to follow a paper trail straight back to the men who thought they were untouchable.
"What is all this?" Monica breathed, staring at the cascading data streams.
"Insurance," I said simply. "When Dad filed that shell company under my name seven years ago, he made one fatal mistake. He used his personal corporate notary to sign the initial transfer of assets—a notary who happens to have been convicted of bank fraud three years ago and is currently cooperating with federal prosecutors in exchange for a reduced sentence."
Monica’s eyes widened. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Because unlike Dad, I actually pay attention to the details," I said, spinning my chair around to face her. "When you walked through that door today, you brought me the exact piece of leverage I needed to finish what started the night of my graduation."
"You're going to turn him in," Monica whispered, not as a question, but as a heavy, undeniable truth.
"I'm not going to turn him in," I corrected, standing up and buttoning my cardigan with deliberate precision. "I'm going to invite him to Portland. I'm going to let him fly out here, thinking his obedient, invisible daughter is going to sign away her life to save his empire."
Monica swallowed hard, a shiver running down her spine. "And when he gets here?"
"When he gets here," I said, my voice dropping into a calm, steely register, "he's going to find out that the daughter he spent a lifetime dismissing didn't just disappear. She built an empire of her own—and she's holding the key to his cell."
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I reached for my phone, opened an encrypted messaging app, and typed out a short, clean message to an old investigative contact in New York.
The primary witness is ready to talk. Set the meeting for Monday.
