I locked myself in my room and started digging.
Crying would have made them comfortable. Rage would have warned them. I chose numbers.
Julian Sterling’s accounts were tied into the vendor payments for the wedding. I had seen enough of the financial structure to know where to start. Once I began tracing the transfers, the pattern turned rotten fast.
Offshore entities.
Layered shell companies.
Fake real estate holdings.
Payments routed through jurisdictions built for hiding.
Julian was not just rich. He was laundering money through property deals and using the wedding to wash some of it clean.
My parents had butchered my hair for a man who belonged in federal court.
So I built two plans.
First, I reclaimed the image. I took cash to a high-end stylist and told her to turn the damage into a weapon. She cut my hair into a razor-sharp pixie and bleached it platinum. I no longer looked wounded. I looked lethal.
Second, I pulled my money out of the wedding. Quietly. Every card. Every payment authorization. Every emergency backup account. I replaced them with my father’s overdrawn business lines and timed the auto-billing to hit during the ceremony.
Then I built the dossier.
Every routing number.
Every shell.
Every transfer.
Every fraudulent holding.
I encrypted the file and sent it to the SEC and the FBI.
Then I powered off the laptop and went to sleep like I had done nothing at all.
Part 4: The Wedding
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