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Chapter 798:
Inside was a yellowed copy of a trust fund transfer agreement. The grantor was Vivian Erickson. The sole beneficiary was June Erickson.
Cole flipped the page. Less than a month after Vivian burned to death in that car, the entire trust fund — tens of millions of dollars — had been routed through a maze of offshore shell companies. The final destination account belonged to Susan Beasley.
“That money,” the assistant said, his voice dropping to a low whisper in the quiet office, “was the seed capital Richard Beasley used to buy his way into the New York elite p>
Cole flipped to the next stack of papers. It was a decade of Alycia’s credit card statements and Ivy League donation receipts.
Every designer dress Alycia had ever worn. Every diamond necklace she had flaunted. The massive donations that had bought her way into medical school and built her carefully constructed persona. Every single cent of it had been paid for with the blood of June’s mother.
Cole grabbed the entire stack of financial records and hurled it at the bulletproof glass window. The papers exploded into the air and fluttered down like dead leaves. A guttural, animalistic roar tore from his throat.
He had been a complete idiot. He had let Alycia play him for seven years. He had handed her his credit cards and his protection, allowing her to wear the skin of a victim while she fed on June’s stolen life.
The assistant swallowed hard. He stepped forward and pushed the third, thinnest envelope across the desk.
“Sir,” the assistant said, his throat tight. “When we dug into Alycia’s background to verify her assets, we found a timeline discrepancy. Regarding the Swiss sanatorium p>
Cole snapped his head up. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the assistant. A new, terrifying kind of panic spiked through his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs.
𝗤𝘶𝖺𝗹𝘪t𝗒 𝗍𝘳а𝗻𝘀𝗅а𝘵𝗶o𝗇𝗌 𝗼ո
He snatched the thin envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper — a flight log and a medical admission record from a private clinic in Miami.
Cole read the dates. Seven years ago. The exact three months that Caleb had spent dying in the Swiss Alps. The exact three months Caleb had written about in his letters, describing the girl who had saved his soul.
Alycia was not in Switzerland. She had been in a Miami clinic, recovering from a severe infection caused by a botched plastic surgery procedure.
Cole stared at the Miami admission dates. The numbers blurred together. If Alycia had been in Florida, she could not have been in the Alps. She had never met Caleb.
If Alycia was not the girl in the snow, then who was the girl Caleb had begged him to protect with his dying breath?
A horrifying, impossible thought detonated inside Cole’s mind. The explosion shattered his reality into a million jagged pieces.