I stare at him. “What?”
“Your father sent me to the museum,” he states. “He hired me to execute Elias and secure whatever evidence he was carrying.”
“No,” I say, taking a physical step back from the desk. I shake my head. “No. That’s a lie.”
He reaches across the desk and taps the screen of the tablet.
It flares to life and displays a series of documents. Scanned bank records. Offshore routing numbers. Wire transfer authorizations.
“Look at it,” he commands.
I drop my gaze to the glowing screen. The numbers blur together at first, a confusing, dense spreadsheet of international finance. But then my eyes catch a specific string of text at the top of the header.
The Vanguard Blind Trust. Cayman Islands.
I know that trust. I’ve seen that exact name printed on the cardstock of the estate planning documents sitting on my father’s desk at home. It’s the trust my father uses to manage his inherited family wealth outside of his judicial salary.
I reach out with a shaking finger and scroll down the document.
Attached to a wire transfer for two million dollars is a digital authorization signature.
It’s my father’s personal seal. The intricate, interlocking ‘WH’ monogram he uses for his private correspondence. The timestamp on the transfer is dated the day before the museum hit.
“No,” I whisper, snatching my hand back from the tablet like the glass burned me.
“He didn’t just hire me,” he says, battering down my defenses. “Your father hired Kirill’s faction first as private mercenaries to kill Elias and take the evidence. The money went straight to a Syndicate shell company. But when Elias bypassed the drop point and broke into the museum instead, Kirill couldn’t get to him in time. So your father used me as his backup.”
“No,” I say again. “No, this is fake. You made this.”
“Iris—”
“You hacked this!” I shout, my voice cracking, echoing off the expensive wood-paneled walls. “You have servers downstairs! You have tech people! You manufactured this to manipulate me!”
“Why would I manufacture a hit on myself?” he asks, his logic razor-sharp. Merciless.
“Because... because he’s a judge!” I stammer, my mind racing to build a defense for the man who raised me. “He puts criminals in jail! People want to frame him! Elias probably stole his seal.Or... or Volkov hacked his trust to pay Kirill and make it look like my dad did it!”
“He wasn’t framed, Iris,” he says, entirely ignoring my rationalizations. He taps the screen again, swiping to a new document showing a second wire transfer. “And when I took you, he panicked. He paid Kirill again to wipe me out and burn the evidence.”
“Shut up!” I cover my ears with my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. My mind bucks. It won’t take it in.
He’s my father. He’s a Federal Judge. He demanded perfection because he wanted me to be exceptional. He protected me.
“He loves me,” I insist, my chest heaving, hot tears flooding my vision. “He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t order a hit on Elias! He’s a good man!”
Cassian watches me break. He stands there like a stone wall.
“A good man would have called the police the second he realized you were gone,” he says, delivering the blow with brutal precision. “A good man wouldn’t have gone on television and smiled while telling the entire world you were at a yoga retreat in Bali.”
“He was buying time!” I sob, clinging desperately to the pathetic lie I’ve held onto. The one thing that’s kept me afloat. “He was stalling so he could find me! He was trying to protect me from the press!”
“He wasn’t stalling,” he says softly. “He didn’t report you missing, probably because he was waiting for the Syndicate to confirm the kill. You’re a loose end, Iris. You’re a witness.”
The words strike like physical blows to the stomach.
“You’re lying,” I weep, my knees buckling. I hit the floor hard, the thick, expensive rug burning my knees. “Please, Cassian. Tell me you’re lying.”
He comes around the desk and crouches down in front of me, bringing himself down to my level. He holds the tablet out, the screen glowing in the dim light of the vault.
