Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Nine
Malachi's POV
The name on the screen stared back at me like an accusation.
Dante.
My closest friend. My right hand. The man I'd trusted with my life for the past fifteen years.
"There has to be a mistake," I said.
Maurice didn't look at me. Just kept his eyes on the evidence spread across the desk. Bank statements. Transaction records. Security footage timestamps.
"There's no mistake. The pattern is clear. Every Thursday between two and four PM, when you're in strategic meetings. When the rest of the inner circle is occupied. He had access. He had opportunity. And according to these transfers, he had motivation."
Two million dollars. Funneled out in small increments over six months. Small enough to avoid automated alerts. Large enough to fund a war.
"Get him," I said quietly. "Bring him here. Now."
