Then another.
Then an account I didn’t recognize.
After that came travel receipts tied again and again to the same name.
Vanessa Cole.
Daniel’s so-called consultant.
By then, I had already spoken privately with our corporate attorney, the bank’s fraud department, and two independent directors.
I had not confronted Daniel.
I didn’t want excuses.
I wanted facts.
Before sunrise, I photographed the open safe.
The empty jewelry box.
The missing company documents.
And several other details around the house that I believed might matter later.
Then I sent everything to a private email account our attorney had arranged for me.
I didn’t cry.
There would be time for that later.
First, I needed to protect what was left.
At 5:46 a.m., my phone lit up.
Daniel had sent me a photograph from the airport.
He was standing beside Vanessa.
Both of them were smiling.
And around Vanessa’s wrist was what she believed to be my mother’s bracelet.
