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Chapter 677:

The GPS screen glowed softly in the dim light. She could turn it off. She could disable the alert, prove her independence, maintain the fortress walls that had kept her safe for so long.

Her finger hovered over the power button.

Instead, her eyes found the blue button. A lifeline.

Her phone buzzed. Easton: “See you soon p>

June stared at the message. Then, despite herself, she smiled.

She put the car in gear and drove toward Tribeca, toward a man who was waiting, toward a future she had not planned and could not control.

𝖫a𝗍𝖾𝘴𝘁 𝗰𝗁𝘢р𝘵𝗲𝘳𝘀 𝗈ո

The GPS tracked every mile, a silent promise in the dark.

The call came at 10:47 AM, while June was reviewing Phase II toxicity reports with her research team.

Easton’s name appeared on the screen. His voice, when she answered, was different—tighter, more controlled, the lawyer’s precision sharpened to a blade’s edge.

“Are you alone p>

June glanced at her team. Three PhDs, two post-docs, all watching her with the wary respect of people who knew they were in the presence of something rare.

“Give me a minute,” she said, and walked to her office, closing the door behind her. “I’m alone p>

“Swiss bank records.” Easton’s words came rapid-fire, stripped of preamble. “We’ve been chasing them for months. The Beasleys’ offshore accounts—the ones they used to launder the trust fund money, to pay off Dr. Finch, to finance Alycia’s entire operation p>

June felt her pulse quicken. “You found them p>

“Not found. Obtained.” A pause, heavy with implication. “A contact in Geneva. Someone who owed me a favor from a case five years ago. The records are comprehensive—wire transfers, shell companies, correspondence with the Beasleys’ attorney going back three years p>

June sank into her chair. Her hands were trembling. She pressed them flat against the desk to stop the motion.

“And p>

“And I submitted them to the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York at 8:00 AM this morning.” Easton’s voice dropped, became almost gentle. “June. They opened a formal investigation. Federal prosecutors. Financial crimes unit. The works p>

June closed her eyes. For a moment she could not breathe. The weight of four years—of betrayal and loss and the slow, grinding work of revenge—seemed to lift, just fractionally, just enough to let her remember what hope felt like.

“They’re going to arrest them,” she whispered.

“They’re going to destroy them.” Easton’s certainty was absolute, unshakable. “The evidence is ironclad. Wire fraud, money laundering, conspiracy to commit medical fraud. We’re looking at twenty years minimum. And that’s before we add the state charges p>

June opened her eyes. The office around her—the certificates on the walls, the photographs of her team, the window with its view of a city that had tried to break her—came back into focus.

“Thank you,” she said. The words were inadequate. She knew they were inadequate. But they were all she had.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Easton’s voice shifted, became something softer, more intimate. “Thank me when it’s done. When they’re in custody and you’re free to—” He stopped. “When you’re free p>

June held the phone tighter. “Easton p>

“Yes p>