Page 74 of His Daughter

The living room. The couch. Declan.

He sat with Lena in his arms. The baby was awake, calm, chewing on his index finger with focused determination. He was still in his work clothes. He came home early. Lena looked at me over his hand and kicked her feet.

Lorraine was not there. Her purse was gone. Her coat was gone. The television was off. The penthouse was quiet, and my mother was nowhere in it.

I stood in the doorway. My bag slid off my shoulder and hit the floor. My hands were shaking.

Declan looked at me. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp, assessing.

"Where were you?"

TWENTY

DECLAN

The conference room was silent before anyone spoke. Roland Caine sat on the far left side of the table with two lawyers flanking him. His silver hair was swept back. His hands were folded on the table. He looked like a man arriving for lunch.

On our side, Nolan to my left, still as a wall. Julian to my right, a folder thick with spreadsheets open before him. David Roth's associate sat beside Julian with a legal pad and a pen that hadn't touched the paper. Graham was against the wall behind us, his tablet on his knee.

I stood. "Caine." I unbuttoned my jacket, sat down, and folded my hands on the table — mirroring his posture. "Thank you for coming in."

"Of course." The smile widened. "I assume we're here to discuss the final terms?"

"We're here to discuss your numbers." I nodded at Julian. "Walk him through it."

Julian opened the folder. He didn't look at Caine. He looked at the spreadsheet. "Your digital revenue across three fiscal years. You reported $312 million from digital publishing and streaming platforms. The actual figure, based on SEC filings, platform-reported subscriber data, and advertising network rate cards, is approximately $222 million." Julian turned a page. "That's a $90 million gap."

Caine smile held. His lawyers shifted.

"Your streaming platform," Julian continued. "You reported four hundred thousand paying subscribers. The platform's own backend data, obtained through a third-party audit, shows a hundred and sixty-two thousand. The remaining two hundred and thirty-eight thousand are free trial users who never converted. You counted them as paying."

"That's a reporting methodology difference," Caine’s lawyer said, "not fraud."

"The podcast network." Julian didn't acknowledge him. "Eighteen shows. You reported separate advertising deals across all eighteen. We traced the contracts. Six of those shows share the same sponsor — one energy drink company. You repackaged one deal as six and reported six times the revenue."

Silence. The lawyer stopped writing.

"The print arm." Julian closed the folder. "Revenue held steady for three quarters because you moved money between subsidiaries through a related-party transaction that circled the same capital through three entities. The print business isn't stable, Caine. It's a shell game."

Julian sat back and looked at me.

I looked at Caine. The smile was still there — smaller now, tighter at the edges.

"You falsified financial statements." My voice was low, level, the pressurized quiet. "You misrepresented your company's value. You presented fabricated numbers to my firm and attempted to close a deal based on those numbers." I leaned forward. "The acquisition is not happening. The Vanguard's legal counsel is referring this matter to the SEC. You're done.”

Caine's lead lawyer opened his mouth. Caine raised a hand. The lawyer closed it.

The room waited.

Caine looked at me, then Julian, then Nolan — who hadn't moved since the meeting began. Then Caine did something I didn't expect. He laughed, low and quiet.

"You think I did this alone?"

I stared at him.

Caine leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his silver ring catching the overhead light. "Check your surroundings, Declan. Someone on your side of the table let those numbers through." His eyes moved — from me to Julian to Nolan to the wall behind us where Graham sat with his tablet. "Someone had access to the final documentation and didn't flag the discrepancy. You do your due diligence? Then ask yourself how a $90 million gap made it past your own people." He looked around the room, landing on each face. "Do you trust all your partners?"

I didn't blink. "Security will escort you out."