Chapter 28: Digging Deeper (Zoe POV)
I couldn’t shake the feeling that Nate’s case was too perfect, too airtight, like someone had tied it up with a bow. I sat in my cramped apartment, the low hum of the refrigerator the only sound as my laptop glowed on the kitchen table, papers scattered around me in an unorganized chaos. The news was full of Nate, Liam’s testimony, that new chat log with “Comp_X,” feds hauling him in again. It all screamed guilty, but having been around enough crooked stories in my time, I knew better than to take things at face value. Something didn’t add up. Harper’s smirk echoed in my head, along with that tip she gave me, “It’s not just Nate,” a warning, a challenge, or maybe both. I had to dig deeper. I wasn’t going to let this go until I knew the truth.
Nate had tried sending me files, half of them made it through before he got cut off. What came through were scrambled logs and emails pointing toward Harper, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She was slick, covering tracks, deleting records, doing whatever she could to keep her involvement hidden. But I wasn’t about to stop there. I knew that if anyone had the means and the power to orchestrate something as elaborate as this, it was her, especially with Graham in the picture. Graham, her father, the big shot CFO. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that if this was a frame, he had to be involved. He had money, connections, and influence. If there was anything criminal going on, it wouldn’t just be Harper acting alone, it would be the two of them working together.
I had been poking around Graham’s financials for a while, small stuff Talia had helped me uncover, but now it was time to go harder. I wasn’t going to let this case slip through the cracks, not when there was something bigger at play. I dove into Graham’s history, pulling up old bank records, stuff I had sweet-talked out of a contact years ago, favors I’d saved up. My fingers moved quickly, cross-checking names, dates, and anything that seemed out of place. Most of it was clean, Graham was good, hidden behind layers of companies and accounts that masked his involvement. But then I hit something.
Wire transfers. Buried deep in the records, from ZenithTech accounts to random names, John Smith, Jane Doe, fake names, obvious if you looked closely. Thousands, tens of thousands of dollars, slipping out over the course of several years. My heart raced, and I could feel my pulse quickening as I scrolled through more entries. Offshore accounts, Cayman Islands stamps on the documents, the kind of thing you see when someone’s laundering money.
"Got you," I muttered under my breath, my hands clammy as I opened the first transfer. $50,000, 2020, tagged as “consulting fees,” but no consultant listed. Another one, $30,000, 2019, same deal. I scrolled faster now, my eyes burning as I scanned through dozens of similar transfers, all small enough to dodge notice but large enough to matter. This was it, Graham was laundering money. It wasn’t a mistake, it wasn’t a coincidence, it was a pattern. ZenithTech’s profits padded, its losses tucked away, all of it flowing through these fake accounts, these faceless names. My chest tightened with the realization, this wasn’t just about Nate anymore. This was bigger, far bigger.
I leaned back in my chair, my mind spinning as the pieces started to fall into place. If Graham was involved in this, moving cash, hiding it, funneling it into offshore accounts, then Nate’s frame job was a distraction. A well-orchestrated one. The real story wasn’t Nate, it was Graham’s empire of dirty money. The chat log, Liam’s flip, everything, it all fit together now. They’d pinned it on Nate to protect this, the money, the laundering, the illegal transactions. I grabbed a notebook and jotted down dates, amounts, and everything I had gathered, proof, maybe, if I could tie it all together. Harper’s transfers Talia had uncovered fit too, smaller, but the same pattern. Father and daughter, running a racket right under everyone’s nose.
I needed more though, just bank logs wouldn’t be enough. They’d never stick without more evidence, something concrete that would force the authorities to see the bigger picture. The feds were all over Nate, but they weren’t looking in the right places. If I could get this to someone higher up, someone who had the power to look at the bigger picture, someone like Markowitz, an old-school investigator who worked fraud cases, maybe I could shift the whole case. Markowitz hated corporate games, and he didn’t mind digging where it hurt. If I fed him this, he’d bite.
I didn’t hesitate. I pulled up an encrypted app on my phone, no names, no traces, and typed quickly, my fingers moving in a blur: “ZenithTech CFO—offshore wires, fake IDs. Check years 2018-2022. Tip’s legit.” I sent it to Markowitz’s burner line, hoping that the tip would get through without being traced. The seconds felt like hours as I waited for the confirmation that the message had sent. My hands shook as I set the phone down, the silence of the apartment pressing in on me. This was it. I had done my part. Now, I had to hope that Markowitz would take it seriously and dig into what I had uncovered.
Night crept in, and the room grew darker except for the faint light of my screen. I kept going, digging deeper into Graham’s past, cross-referencing, looking for more pieces that might tie everything together. I could feel the hours slipping by, but I couldn’t stop. Those wire transfers, hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years, told a story. A story of money being funneled through fake names, through offshore accounts, and hidden from the public eye. And Nate? He was just the pawn in their game, the one they used to distract from the real mess they were making. I thought of him, scared, alone, the feds on him, and pushed harder. He didn’t deserve this.
My phone rang, sharp and loud, breaking the silence. I jumped in my seat, my heart pounding as I glanced at the screen. No caller ID, just “Unknown.” I felt a chill run down my spine. Late calls like this weren’t random, not now. I stared at the screen, gut instincts screaming at me to ignore it. But I couldn’t, I had to know who was calling. Maybe it was Markowitz with some good news. Or maybe it was something worse.
I answered with a low, cautious voice. “Yeah?”
Silence at first. Then I heard breathing, slow, steady. Then the voice came, a deep, unfamiliar tone. “You’re getting too close,” it said, calm but firm. “Back off.”
The line clicked dead before I could respond, leaving nothing but a dead silence on the other end. My breath caught in my throat as I dropped the phone, my hands trembling. They knew. They knew I was digging, and I had just crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. It wasn’t just Harper and Graham anymore, they were watching me too. I could feel the weight of the danger bearing down on me. But I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when I was so close.