Brandon's POV
The café was quiet for once, just the low hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. I'd taken a corner booth, the kind that gave us enough privacy without looking like we were hiding.
Amelia sat across from me, her hands wrapped around a mug she hadn't started drinking yet, her eyes fixed on me with that steady, searching look that made it impossible to lie.
I opened my laptop and turned the screen toward her. My heart thudded against my ribs as the documents came up — rows of transactions, contracts with too much fine print, emails that looked harmless until you followed the threads.
"Amelia," I said, keeping my voice even. "I need you to look at this."
Her gaze flicked down, scanning the page, then back up at me. "What am I looking at?"
I took a breath. Don't scare her. Don't push her away.
"At first, I thought it was just sloppy paperwork. But it's not. Graham's firm — he's still working for your parents."
Her grip on the mug tightened. "That… doesn't make sense. He told me... He swore he wasn't involved."
"I know," I said quickly. "That's exactly what he wanted you to believe. But look —" I tapped the highlighted section at the bottom of a contract.
"His firm is tied directly to the Stern Family Trust. He's been with them the whole time."
Her eyes darted over the line of text, her lips parting as though she wanted to argue but couldn't.
I pushed another file forward.
"These transfers? They line up with the dates your parents left the company. Money disappearing, then reappearing in accounts they control — but the paperwork routes it through you. On paper, it looks like you moved it. But it's them. And Graham is the one making it possible."
A sharp breath escaped her, and she sat back like the air had been knocked out of her.
"No… Brandon, no. I've known Graham since I was a child. I trusted him. And my parents?"
"I know," I said, softer now. "And that's why this worked. They used that trust to make sure you never saw it coming."
For a moment, she didn't speak. She stared at the screen, the numbers, the neat rows of betrayal, and I could almost see the fight inside her — wanting to deny it, to cling to what she believed she knew.
Then her voice broke, barely above a whisper. "So they really… they really set me up?"
I nodded. "Every document I've pulled points to the same thing. Amelia, you didn't steal anything. Your parents did. And they're trying to leave you with the blame."
Her shoulders slumped, but her jaw tightened. She looked at me then, her eyes sharp with a mix of anger and fear. "Why would they do this? Their own daughter?"
I met her gaze, steady, certain.
"Because it's not about you. It's about the money. The control. They don't care who they have to sacrifice to keep it. Even you."
She flinched, but she didn't look away. Slowly, she dragged her hands off the mug and laid them flat on the table, as if steadying herself. "If you hadn't shown me this… I would never have seen it at all."
"That's why I had to," I said. My voice was low, but firm. "You can still fight this. But you can't do it alone — and I'm not going to let you."
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but instead she let out a long breath. The kind of sigh that carried years of betrayal in it.
Finally, she whispered, "I don't even know if I can trust anyone right now."
I leaned in and looked her in the eye.
"Then trust me. Just enough to get you through this. Step by step. I'll help you figure out how to clear your name and prove it's them ."
For a long time, she was silent, her eyes on me, testing every word, weighing whether to believe it. Then she gave the smallest nod. "Okay."
Relief surged through me, though I kept my expression steady. This was only the beginning.
I let the silence hang for a moment longer, watching her eyes move over the numbers glowing on my laptop screen. She was processing, holding herself tight, not ready to break. I didn't push. Not yet.
Instead, I leaned forward, lowering my voice.
"There's something else. I don't think we should keep this quiet. The Sterns built this trap too carefully. They want the world to believe you're guilty. If we sit back, they'll win."
Her eyes flicked up, sharp and suspicious. "So what do you suggest?"
I hesitated, then said it plainly. "We leak it. Everything I've found. Documents, the transfers, Graham's firm's connection to the family trust. Get it out before they can bury it."
Her face tightened, but she didn't interrupt.
"I have a friend," I went on, carefully, "a journalist with a national newspaper. He's good. Trusted. He won't burn us. If I take this to him, I can frame it so your name is kept out of the news. Your parents will be the ones under the spotlight. Graham too. Not you."
She blinked, once, twice, like she was trying to read the spaces between my words.
Finally, she said, "And you really think that'll work? That people will believe it wasn't me?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "I've been careful. I can strip everything clean before it reaches him. You won't be mentioned. The story will be about them — their theft, their fraud. Not you."
Her fingers tapped against the edge of her mug, quick, restless, the only sign she was rattled.
"That's… risky," she murmured.
"It is," I admitted. "But so is doing nothing. If we wait, they control the narrative. If we move first, they lose that power."
She looked back at the laptop, the evidence staring back at her. I could almost hear her thoughts spinning, weighing the risks against the truth.
I softened my tone. "You don't have to be the one to carry this out. I'll handle my friend. I'll handle the leak. You can stay clear. All I need from you is your permission to do this. It's your decision."
For a long moment, she just studied me, her expression unreadable. Then she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"Alright," she said quietly. "Do it."
Relief flooded me, but I kept it inside. I closed the laptop slowly, decisively. The plan was dangerous, yes; but it was a way forward. And for the first time, I could see a path where Amelia didn't have to stand in the wreckage alone.