Chapter 7 - The Investigation and the Trap
The next forty-eight hours passed in a blurred, high-stakes nightmare.
Kevin didn't go into the office. He locked himself in his subterranean study with Abigail, Miller, and a mountain of encrypted digital files that Abigail had smuggled out of her estranged brother’s personal digital archives years ago, keeping them hidden as insurance against Marcus’s toxic ambition.
The truth unspooled like a horror story.
Marcus Vance hadn't just been a loyal second-in-command. For over three years, he had been embezzling millions from Morrison Dynamics' defense contracts, funneling the funds through offshore shell companies. Lauren had discovered the discrepancy while looking for a financial report for a home renovation project. She had found the folder in Kevin’s safe—a folder Marcus had slipped in during a late-night strategy meeting—and realized her husband’s most trusted friend was actively framing Kevin for corporate fraud.
She had called Marcus from her car minutes before the crash, threatening to go straight to federal authorities.
And then, the truck had crossed the median.
"We need to go to the FBI," Miller said, slamming his laptop shut on the glass desk. "With Abigail’s digital keys and Lauren’s old notes, we have enough to get an immediate arrest warrant for Marcus."
"No," Kevin said, his voice cold, hard, and devoid of mercy. "If we go to the federal authorities now, Marcus’s legal team will tie it up in courts for months. He’ll liquidate the offshore accounts and flee the country."
"Then what do we do, Dad?" Jordan’s small voice suddenly echoed from the doorway.
Kevin turned around in shock. Jordan and Justin were standing in the doorway of the study, wrapped in matching dinosaur pajamas. Abigail moved instantly, walking over to them and kneeling down.
"You guys should be asleep," Kevin said softly, rising from his desk.
"We heard you talking," Justin said, rubbing his eyes. "You sounded angry. Are the bad men coming back?"
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Kevin looked at his sons. For the first time in fourteen months, he didn't call for a nanny, didn't hand them off to a stranger, and didn't retreat behind a corporate firewall. He walked across the room, knelt beside Abigail and his boys, and wrapped both of his arms around them, pulling them tightly against his chest.
"No, buddy," Kevin whispered, kissing the top of Jordan’s head. "No one is ever hurting this family again. I promise."
