Julian laughed through tears. “You still look like you’re about to sue someone.”
“I am.”
They spent three hours building the foundation of their case. Julian produced documents Arthur’s friend had gathered. Graham identified the missing pieces: bank authorizations, original vendor files, clinic records, police reports, property transfers, and proof that Deborah had personally benefited.
“We need federal help,” Graham said. “The overseas transfers make this bigger than a local complaint.”
“Arthur knows someone,” Julian said. “An FBI agent. Mitchell Thorne. Financial crimes.”
Graham lifted an eyebrow. “Your mechanic has an FBI contact?”
“Arthur knows everyone. He fixes half the county’s cars and hears the other half confess.”
For the first time all day, Harrison laughed.
The laugh broke something open. The three of them sat there, not healed, not safe, but reunited in purpose.
Then Julian said, “There’s something else.”
Harrison looked at him.
“When Arthur and I traced Evan Price, we found his mother. Lena Price. She’s a school cafeteria worker in Queens. She filed a missing-person report two years ago, but because Evan was nineteen and had run away before, nobody prioritized it.”
