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"You still found it." The smile that surfaces on his face is small, barely there, and it affects me more than it has any right to. I turn away first.

Then reality crashes back — the ledger, the businesses, the fraud — and my smile fades. "Brock."

His expression sharpens immediately. "What?"

I point toward the book. "They know." The words lie heavily between us and Brock doesn't respond right away, because he understands exactly what I mean. Whoever has been targeting me knows what this ledger proves and knows what happens when that information becomes public.

"They'll come after it." It sounds obvious because it is.

Brock nods slowly. "They will."

I stare blankly, then at the office door, then back at him, and the victory suddenly feels considerably less secure. "We can't just sit here."

"No." A small smile appears, and it changes his entire face. "It's the first time you've said that and I've agreed."

A laugh leaves me abruptly, and the tension eases slightly, only slightly. Brock leans forward. "The moment Theo finishes verifying everything, we move."

I study him — the certainty, the confidence, the calm — and something becomes clear that I haven't felt since this nightmare began. Brock doesn't sound hopeful. He doesn't sound optimistic. He sounds sure. "We finally have them," I say quietly.

His gaze doesn't leave mine. "Yeah."

The single word settles between us and we both hold still. Everything that's been building for weeks suddenly becomes impossible to ignore — the late nights, the arguments, the investigations, the comfort, the trust — all of it sitting between us, visible and unspoken and dangerous. My pulse quickens and Brock notices, the awareness appearing in his eyes and shifting the air between us into something considerably more difficult to navigate than fraud.

Then the bakery phone rings.

The sound slices through the moment and we both look away immediately. I stand first. "I should get that."

"You should."

A smile surfaces despite everything and I move toward the ringing phone, because the investigation has changed, the rules have changed, and somewhere beyond the walls of Sweetbell Bakery, whoever has been trying to destroy me is about to discover that the woman they underestimated finally has the evidence to fight back.

20

BROCK

The first witness changes her story within five minutes. I know it, Juniper knows it, and Mrs. Julius knows it — yet somehow we're all sitting in her living room pretending otherwise.

Mrs. Julius twists her hands together while avoiding eye contact. The complaint file sits open on my lap, the same complaint she filed months ago, the same one that helped trigger inspections against Sweetbell Bakery, the same one she never bothered pursuing afterward. Interesting on its own. Far more interesting now that we know money is involved.

"You stated that your business suffered financial losses," I say.

Mrs. Julius nods quickly. "I remember."

I study her expression. She's nervous — not uncertain, nervous. Very different things. "You filed supporting documentation."

"Yes."

I open the file. "The documentation claims fraudulent activity." Another nod, and then I slide a copy of her statement across the table. She glances down and immediately looks away, and I feel Juniper's attention sharpen beside me.

"You also stated that several connected businesses encouraged legal action."

Mrs. Julius swallows. "I might've misunderstood."

There it is — the shift, the retreat, the sudden change. I lean back. "Misunderstood?"

"Everything was stressful." The complaint had been detailed, extremely detailed. Now suddenly it isn't. Juniper remains quiet beside me, which is a genuine miracle.

"I don't really remember much anymore," Mrs. Julius continues. The answer settles heavily, because it's a lie and not a particularly convincing one. The woman remembered enough to file paperwork, enough to submit evidence, enough to accuse multiple parties. Now she remembers nothing. Convenient. Far too convenient.