Chapter 9
Richard lunged forward with a sudden, desperate burst of adrenaline, his hand reaching past Arthur toward the leather ledger on the table, clearly intending to rip out the fraudulent pages and destroy the evidence once and for all. But Elena was faster than she looked. She sidestepped smoothly, her hand shooting out to grab the edge of the ledger and pull it entirely out of his reach, holding it tight against her chest. Richard stumbled off balance, crashing hard into the back of Beatrice’s chair and sending the elderly woman tipping forward, though Arthur caught her by the arms before she could strike the floor. "Get out," Arthur commanded, his voice dropping into a register that brook no argument. He gently settled Beatrice back into her seat and turned his full, towering weight toward his brother-in-law. "The auditors have copies, Richard. The digital backups are already secured with the district attorney's office in the county seat. Tearing that book apart won't save you a single day in prison." Richard stood panting in the center of the dining room, his slicked-back hair falling out of place across his forehead, revealing a streak of sweaty gray roots. He looked around the opulent room—the crystal chandelier, the expensive oil paintings on the walls, the silver serving trays—realizing with sudden, crushing clarity that none of it belonged to him anymore. It never had. He was just a tenant living inside a stolen museum of his own design. "You'll destroy everything," Richard whispered, his voice trembling on the verge of a sob. "The foundation, the scholarships, the community center—it all goes down if I go down." Arthur shook his head slowly, his expression devoid of pity. "No, Richard. The foundation will be returned to the people it was actually stolen from. The community center will bear my father's name, not yours."
