"I'll be back in two hours," he says. "Stay in this room. Don't let anyone else see what you're looking at."
After he leaves, I move to take his seat on the other side of the massive desk. I spread the contents of the folder across his massive desk, my heart pounding as I prepare to dive into evidence that could shatter everything I believe about my father.
Bank statements from accounts that have way too much money. Wire transfers in amounts that make my head spin. Screenshots of emails discussing "merchandise" and "shipments" in language that seems innocuous but feels sinister. And photos—surveillance photos of my father entering buildings, meeting with people, conducting business in shadowy corners of Chicago I never knew existed.
But the more I study the evidence, the more wrong it feels.
The timeline doesn't match my father's schedule. I remember him being home during times when these photos suggest he was across town conducting illegal business. The bank accounts are in his name, but the signatures don't quite match his careful, precise handwriting.
And the amount... five million dollars is a fortune to people like us, but it's also exactly the kind of round number that feelsdesigned to get attention. If my father were really embezzling, wouldn't he be more subtle about it?
I find a yellow pad and start making notes. I'm good at organizing information and spotting inconsistencies in documentation. I do this for a living. I write contracts that protect my clients.
"Find anything interesting?"
The voice makes me jump. I look up to see Bogdan standing in the doorway.
"I—yes, actually." I gather the papers protectively, not sure how much I should reveal. "There are inconsistencies in the evidence."
"Inconsistencies?" He moves into the room without invitation, closing the door behind him. "What kind of inconsistencies?"
I hesitate. Something about his tone sets me on edge, but I need allies right now. If there's even a chance Bogdan might listen to reason...
"Timeline issues," I say carefully. "Dates that don't match up with where I know my father was."
"Memory can be unreliable," Bogdan says, settling into the chair across from Dante's desk. "Especially when we're trying to protect people we love."
"This isn't about memory. I know my father didn’t do this.”
“We know what we’re doing, Hannah.” His tone is soft, like he’s delivering bad news. “We take money very seriously.”
"You think I doctored evidence to protect my father?"
"I think daughters will do anything to believe their fathers are innocent, even when faced with overwhelming proof of their guilt."
His dismissiveness infuriates me. "You don't understand. My father loved Vadim like a brother. He would never betray that trust, especially not for money we didn't need."
"Didn't need?" Bogdan laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Your father is an accountant, Hannah. A very good one, but still just an employee. Five million dollars represents more money than he could make in a lifetime of honest work."
"We lived comfortably, but we weren't rich. If my father had been stealing millions, don't you think our lifestyle would have reflected that?"
"Smart thieves don't spend their stolen money immediately. They hide it, invest it, wait for the heat to die down before they enjoy their profits."
I shake my head, frustrated by his logic. "You're wrong about him."
"Am I?" Bogdan leans forward, his voice still gentle. "Hannah, I know this is hard to accept, but we don't really know people like we think we do. Families betray each other all the time. Sons steal from fathers, brothers sell out brothers, daughters discover their parents aren't who they pretended to be."
There's something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
"It happens all the time.”
I shake my head. “Not this time. No way.”
"Accept the truth. Your father stole from us. The evidence is overwhelming and continuing to deny it will only make things worse for both of you."
But I can't accept it. Everything in my heart, everything I know about the man who raised me, tells me this is wrong. Richard Quinn isn't perfect, but he's not a thief. He's not a betrayer.
"I'm going to prove his innocence," I say quietly.
