“Dad.”
Diane gave me a thin smile. “So this is what we’re doing now.”
Mr. Gaines gestured to the chairs. “Please sit.” He waited until they had. The old clock on the wall ticked through the quiet. Then: “This concerns attempted fraud, unlawful interference, and breach of fiduciary duty.”
Diane blinked. My father leaned back slightly, as if physical distance could soften the meaning of words.
“I’m sorry?” he said.
Mr. Gaines slid the photograph across the desk. Then the transaction records. Then my grandfather’s notarized statement.
I watched my father’s face as he read. Not panic. Something quieter. The slow draining of color, like a curtain being drawn.
Diane picked up the financial pages. “This proves nothing.”
“It proves enough,” I said. “And there’s more.”
My father looked at me then. Really looked at me. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“What Grandpa asked me to.”
His expression hardened. “You have no idea how complicated this is.”
“No,” I said. “You just counted on that.”
Diane put the papers down too hard on the desk. “Thomas promised—” My father cut her off with a single look. Too late.
Mr. Gaines made a small note. “Thank you. That helps.”
Diane went silent. My father turned to Mr. Gaines.
“What do you want?”
Not what does this mean, not this is absurd. What do you want. That was his tell. He already knew the shape of what was happening.
Mr. Gaines answered evenly. “My client wants immediate withdrawal of all claims against Thomas Callahan’s protected holdings, written acknowledgment of attempted interference, and full cooperation with the asset recovery process.”
