Morning came too quickly.
Victoria had slept on Catherine's couch, fully dressed, the recorder in her pocket. She woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of voices in the kitchen.
Franklin was at the table, a mug in his hand, his laptop open in front of him. Catherine stood by the stove, her phone pressed to her ear. Olivia was typing furiously, her eyes red from lack of sleep.
Nathaniel walked in from the back porch, his face pale.
"Webb knows," he said.
"Knows what?" Victoria asked.
"About Vinson. About the recording. About everything." Nathaniel set his phone on the table. "Someone on Franklin's staff leaked the motion. Webb's lawyers filed an emergency injunction an hour ago."
Franklin's jaw tightened. "Which judge?"
"Judge Patricia Holloway. Webb appointed her."
"Then we go around her."
"How?"
Franklin stood up. His legs trembled, but he didn't sit down.
"We go to the press. We release the recording. We let the public decide."
---
Catherine made the calls.
Three journalists. Two newspapers. One cable news network. All of them agreed to run the story by noon.
Victoria sat in the living room, watching the clock. The minutes crawled by.
Sarah paced by the window. "What if they don't believe it?"
"They'll believe it," Olivia said. "The recording is clear. The transactions are documented. The names are real."
"And if Webb has friends at the networks?"
"Then we go to the internet. Social media. Blogs. Podcasts. There are a thousand ways to reach people now. Webb can't control all of them."
Sarah stopped pacing. She looked at Victoria.
"Your father," Sarah said. "Would he have wanted this?"
Victoria thought about her father. About the house on Maple Street. About the phone call three days before he died.
"He would have wanted justice," Victoria said. "Not revenge. Justice."
Sarah nodded slowly. "That's what Richard wanted too."
---
At 11:47 AM, Catherine's phone rang.
She answered, listened, and hung up.
"The story is live," she said.
Victoria walked to the laptop. Olivia had the news site open.
The headline: "Marcus Webb, Billionaire Financier, Ordered Murder of His Own CFO."
The recording was embedded in the article. So were the transaction files. So were the names of the twelve people on Webb's payroll.
"Now we wait," Catherine said.
---
They didn't wait long.
At 12:30 PM, Nathaniel's phone rang. He answered, listened, and hung up.
"The FBI is opening an investigation," he said.
"Which field office?" Franklin asked.
"Washington. They're sending agents to Webb's office now."
"And Vinson?"
"He's already in custody. He turned himself in an hour ago."
Victoria felt a weight lift from her chest. "He did?"
"He said he wanted to be the one who arrested Webb. But he couldn't. So he did the next best thing."
Franklin leaned back in his chair. His face was gray, but he was smiling.
"It's over," he said.
"It's not over until Webb is in handcuffs," Nathaniel said.
"Give it time."
---
The hours passed.
News crews gathered outside Webb's office building. Reporters shouted questions at his lawyers. His staff hurried in and out, carrying boxes.
At 4 PM, a black SUV pulled up to the building. Federal agents got out. They walked past the cameras, past the lawyers, past the security guards.
Twenty minutes later, they walked out with Marcus Webb in handcuffs.
Victoria watched on the laptop screen. Webb's face was calm, composed, the same face she'd seen in photographs for years. But his eyes were different. They were empty.
"He looks like a man who's lost everything," Sarah said.
"He looks like a man who's about to go to prison," Victoria replied.
---
Nathaniel stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder.
"You did this," he said.
"We did this."
"I signed the report that destroyed your company. I walked past you in the hallway. I spent ten years pretending you didn't exist."
"I know."
"If you want me to leave—"
"I don't."
He looked at her. His eyes were wet.
"Why?"
"Because you're not the same person who signed that report. Neither am I." She turned to face him. "We've both done things we regret. The question is what we do next."
"And what do we do next?"
Victoria looked at the laptop screen. Webb was being led into the SUV. The cameras flashed. The reporters shouted.
"We live," she said. "We finally live."
---
That night, they gathered at Franklin's house.
The nurse had set up a bed in the study. Franklin lay propped against pillows, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow.
Nathaniel sat beside him. Victoria stood by the door.
"Father," Nathaniel said.
Franklin opened his eyes. "Is it done?"
"Webb is in custody. The FBI has the files. Vinson is cooperating."
"Good." Franklin reached out and took his son's hand. "I'm proud of you."
"You shouldn't be. I did terrible things."
"You did terrible things. Then you tried to make them right. That's more than most people do."
Nathaniel's voice cracked. "I'm sorry. For everything."
Franklin squeezed his hand. "I know."
The old man closed his eyes. His breathing slowed.
The nurse stepped forward. "He needs rest."
Nathaniel stood up. He walked to Victoria and took her hand.
"Let's go," he said.
They walked out of the study, out of the house, into the cold night air.
"It's over," Victoria said.
"It's over."
"What do we do now?"
Nathaniel looked at her. The streetlight cast shadows on his face.
"We start over," he said. "Together, if you want."
Victoria looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.
"Together," she said.