Chapter 6
For the first time, I saw doubt in Alexander’s eyes.
“If the SEC finds anything,” he said, “the stock will crash. We’ll lose access to capital. Carmen will walk away scot-free.”
“Then we prove you’re innocent,” I said. “We find the person who really did it.”
But the old files were gone.
Burned.
Shredded.
“Gone,” Marcus said. “Everything from that period was destroyed in a ‘routine archive purge’ five years ago. Right after Carmen first started researching Langford Group.”
She’d planned this for years.
That afternoon, Sofia and I went to visit the notary in the hospital.
He was weak, but clear-headed.
“I forged the signature,” he said, holding my gaze. “Carmen paid me fifty thousand dollars. Said it was just a formality. I didn’t know what it was for until later. I’m sorry. I’ll testify in court. I’ll sign whatever you need.”
He also gave us a list of other documents he’d faked for her over the years.
Enough to put her away for a long time.
But we still couldn’t use it until the SEC inquiry was resolved.
And Carmen was using the delay to launch a full-scale media attack.
She leaked stories about Alexander’s “secret scandal.”
About how he’d built Langford Group on stolen money.
About how he’d lied to everyone for twenty years.
Reporters camped outside my apartment building.
They called Sofia’s phone, emailed her, left notes in the mailbox.
Sofia stayed strong.
“She’s just scared,” she said. “That’s why she’s lying.”
But Alexander was quiet, distant.
I found him in the study late one night, looking at a faded photo of a man I’d never seen.
“Who is that?” I said.
“His name was Julian,” Alexander said. “My business partner. My best friend. We built the first branch of Langford together. He was the one who stole the money. And then he vanished. I never saw him again. I took the blame because… because he was my brother.”
I stared at him.
“You never told me you had a brother,” I said.
“I haven’t spoken of him in twenty years,” he said. “He ran. Left me holding the bag. Ruined our name. And now Carmen’s going to use it to ruin everything we’ve built since.”
“Then we find Julian,” I said. “If he’s alive, he can clear your name.”
Marcus put his best investigators on the trail.
For days they found nothing.
No address.
No bank accounts.
No social media.
He’d vanished completely.
Until one evening, one of the investigators called.
“I found him,” he said. “He’s living in a small town three hours away. Under a new name. He runs a bookstore. And he’s been there for twelve years.”
We drove there the next morning.
The shop was small and warm, filled with old books and sunlight.
A man with graying hair stood behind the counter, arranging paperbacks.
He looked up when we walked in.
His eyes widened.
“Alexander,” he whispered.
“Julian,” Alexander said.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“I’m sorry,” Julian said, his voice breaking. “I was desperate. I owed people money. I thought I could pay it back before anyone noticed. But I couldn’t. I was too ashamed to come home.”
“You left me to take the fall,” Alexander said. “You let me carry that weight for twenty years.”
“I know,” Julian said. “And I’ve paid for it every single day. But I can make it right. I have the records. The emails. The transfers. Everything. I can testify. I can clear your name.”
We brought Julian back to the city.
He gave a full statement to the SEC.
He provided every document we needed.
The inquiry was closed within 48 hours.
Alexander was cleared of all wrongdoing.
And we had something else too.
Julian had kept records of Carmen’s attempts to contact him over the years.
She’d been threatening him to stay silent.
Saying if he spoke up, she’d destroy his family.
Now we had proof she knew the truth all along.
And that she’d used it to blackmail Alexander.
We were ready to go to court.
But Carmen had one last trick.
That night, we got word that Javier had filed a motion to dismiss the divorce and restraining order.
He claimed Sofia was being “unduly influenced” by Alexander and me.
And he’d gotten a witness to testify.
May you like
Someone close to our family.
Someone we’d trusted.
