Liam pulled out his phone, opened an email, turned the screen. "My lawyers don't need to."
Wickham's easy confidence cracked as he read. "What?—"
"Every account. Every LLC you've been using. Every offshore account." Liam's voice stayed level. Almost conversational. "Frozen."
"You can't?—"
"Already did. Eight AM Eastern." Liam put the phone away. "The D'Arcy organization has excellent banking relationships."
The color drained from Wickham's face. "You bastard."
"And to think, my parents used to be fond of you." Liam checked his watch—more theater than necessity, but Wickham had always responded to performance. "But I'm the one offering you a choice. Stay here broke, unable to complete your citizenship purchase, waiting for federal cooperation. Or get on my plane, turn yourself in with cooperation credit, and maybe avoid prison."
"Why would I?—"
"Because my sister wants to see you charged," Liam said quietly. "And the FBI has statements from three other women. Lydia's testimony. Financial records going back three years." Hepaused. "You're done. The only question is whether you face it now or later in handcuffs."
Wickham stared. The silk robe looked ridiculous suddenly, costume rather than confidence.
Liam checked his watch again. "Plane leaves in thirty minutes. Get dressed."
Six hours back. Wickham in the rear cabin with security between them, alternating between silence and self-pity Liam didn't acknowledge.
The delivery confirmation was still on his phone: Package delivered, signature confirmed, Elizabeth Bennet-Cross.
He'd debated the greater part of an hour about what to write before finally putting down the only two words that kept looping in his head: Please come.
No explanation while he was coordinating with federal agents. No excuses while Mark's security tracked Wickham's movements. No words while he was on a plane hunting down a criminal.
Actions first. Words after.
His father's philosophy, for better or worse.
He smiled despite his exhaustion, imagining the look on Libby's face when she found out he'd gone to St. Kitts alone. She'd be furious—that beautiful particular fury she got when people tried to protect her from things she'd rather face head-on. But he'd needed to do this. Make sure Wickham paid for what he'd done to the two most important women in his life.
Now it was done. Now he just wanted to see her.
Whether she'd come was up to her.
His phone buzzed.
Georgia
Mom wants to know if you're bringing a guest to the game tomorrow. I told her to mind her business but she's relentless.
Liam
Ask me after the game.
Georgia
Cryptic. I love it.
For what it's worth? I think she'll come.
He stared at the screen. Locked his phone. Closed his eyes against exhaustion and hope in equal measure.
The Garden locker room: sweat, rubber, equipment cleaner. The ritual unchanged since he was seven—left pad first, tape job precise, stick angled exactly right.
