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Chapter 704:

The door to the secondary lab opened. An older man emerged—seventies, stooped, carrying the particular dignity of someone who had served one family for decades. Behind him, a wheelchair. In the wheelchair sat another man, older still, his skin papery, his eyes bright with intelligence and fear.

“Ms. Erickson.” Arthur’s voice was soft. Respectful. “I wasn’t sure—after all these years—if you would remember p>

“I remember.” June crossed to them. She took the older man’s hand—Davis, her mother’s CFO, the man who had vanished after the crash, who had been rumored dead, who had been hiding. “I remember everything you did for her. For them p>

Davis’s hand trembled in hers. “I should have come forward sooner. Should have p>

“You were afraid.” June squeezed gently. “You had reason to be. The Beasleys—” she stopped, looked at Easton, “—the Beasleys destroyed anyone who threatened them. You survived. You protected this.” She gestured to the box. “That’s what matters now p>

𝘚𝗍𝗼𝗿𝘪𝘦𝗌 y𝗈𝘶 𝘄оո’𝘵 𝗉𝘂t 𝗱o𝘸𝗻 o𝗻

Easton had moved to the counter and was examining the documents, the microfiche, the careful organization of evidence that had waited ten years for its moment.

“This is—” he stopped, looked up at her, “—this is enough for a federal investigation. Enough to reopen the crash inquiry. Enough to p>

“Enough to destroy them.” June’s voice was flat. Absolute. “Richard and Susan are already finished. But this—” she touched the microfiche, “—this puts them away forever. And it answers the question I’ve been asking since I was fifteen p>

She looked at Easton, her expression hardening with a resolve he was beginning to recognize. “Davis is finally safe. Arthur brought him to a secure location last night. I wanted to wait until after today’s sentencing was final before showing you this. Now that they can’t escape the financial charges, we can pursue the true justice p>

She turned to the wall. The laboratory had no windows, but she looked anyway—at the blank surface, at the darkness beyond.

“Why,” she whispered. “Why them. Why my parents. Why p>

Easton was beside her. His hand found hers, warm and steady and absolutely there.

“Because they were in the way,” he said. “Because they had something the Beasleys wanted. Because—” he stopped, let the silence stretch, “—because evil doesn’t need reasons. Only opportunity p>

June nodded. Felt the tears gathering, the grief she had suppressed for years, the particular pain of finally understanding.

“Thank you,” she said. To Davis. To Arthur. To Easton, who had become something she hadn’t planned, hadn’t wanted, and couldn’t imagine losing.

“For what p>

“For being here. For—” she stopped, laughed, and it was wet and broken and real, “—for not letting me do this alone p>

She turned back to the counter. To the documents. To the next phase of a war that had consumed half her life.

And she reached for her checkbook.

The pen was heavy in her hand. The checkbook—simple, black, utterly ordinary—had been a gift from Eleanor, years ago, when June had still been trying to pretend she needed Compton money.

She wrote the amount carefully. One million dollars. Payable to Easton Hahn, Esq. For services rendered.

“June p>

She didn’t look up. Finished the signature. Tore the check free.