Chapter 10 Framing Callum

Chapter 10 Framing Callum
POV: Cormac Brennan
Location: Brennan Townhouse, Kensington
Time: Three Weeks After Father's Death

Beta Declan spreads pack financial records across Father's desk. Three decades of accounts, investments, territory revenues. Everything that keeps three hundred wolves housed, fed, and functioning.

"The estate's more complicated than your father let on," Declan says. "Multiple holding companies, offshore accounts, investments spanning six countries. He kept everything compartmentalized."

"Why?"

"Protection. If one account gets compromised, the others remain secure." Declan points to a ledger. "This is pack operations. Salaries, territory maintenance, security costs. About two million pounds annually."

"And we generate how much?"

"Four million from territory revenues, another million from investments. We're solvent. But not as wealthy as we appear."

I scan the records. Father was meticulous. Every transaction documented, every pound accounted for. Decades of careful management.

Perfect for what I need.

"Show me the accounts Callum has access to," I say.

Declan looks up sharply. "Why?"

"I'm reviewing all access permissions. Making sure security's tight during transition."

"Callum's your Beta. He needs financial access to do his job."

"I know. I'm just verifying what he can access versus what requires my approval." I keep my voice casual. "Standard security review."

Declan's not convinced but he shows me anyway. "Callum has viewing access to most accounts. Can approve expenditures under ten thousand pounds. Anything larger requires your signature."

"And he can move money between accounts?"

"Between operational accounts, yes. But not to external accounts. Those transfers require both of us."

"Both of us meaning?"

"You and me. Alpha and Beta signatures. Same as it worked with your father and me." Declan's watching me carefully now. "Cormac, what's this about?"

"Just understanding the system." I make notes. "Can you show me transaction history? Last six months."

Declan pulls up digital records. I scan through months of normal pack business. Salaries paid, bills settled, investments made. Nothing unusual.

"Thank you," I say. "That's helpful. I'll review these and let you know if I have questions."

"You're being strange about this."

"I'm being thorough. There's a difference."

Declan gathers the papers. Hesitates. "If you're worried about Callum's loyalty, talk to him directly. Don't investigate your own brother behind his back."

"I'm not investigating. I'm reviewing."

"It's the same thing." Declan heads for the door. "Your father trusted Callum completely. You should too."

Declan leaves. I wait until his footsteps fade before calling Mordaunt.

Mordaunt answers on the second ring. "Cormac. How can I help?"

"I need a financial expert. Someone who can create realistic transaction histories."

"Realistic but false?"

"Yes."

Silence. Then Mordaunt's amused voice: "What are you planning?"

"Insurance. In case I need to prove financial impropriety."

"Against whom?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does if you're framing your brother." Mordaunt's not asking. He knows. "You want to create evidence Callum's been embezzling."

No point denying it. "Can you help or not?"

"Of course I can help. This is exactly the kind of creative accounting vampires excel at." Mordaunt sounds pleased. "How much embezzlement are we fabricating?"

"Fifty thousand pounds. Over six months. Small enough to miss during routine audits, large enough to matter when discovered."

"And the money trail?"

"Needs to lead to an account under Callum's name. Offshore, hidden, but discoverable with investigation."

"I'll have someone contact you tomorrow. They'll need full access to your pack's financial systems."

"They'll have it."

"Cormac." Mordaunt's tone shifts. Almost paternal. "Are you certain about this? Framing your brother for embezzlement is permanent. Once you accuse him, there's no taking it back."

"I'm certain."

"Because once the pack believes he's a thief, they'll never trust him again. Even if you forgive him later, the damage is done."

"That's the point."

"Just making sure you understand the consequences. Destroying your brother's reputation destroys any chance of reconciliation."

"We're not reconciling. He's a threat. I'm neutralizing that threat." I keep my voice steady. "Are you going to help or lecture me?"

"Both. I'm multitalented." Mordaunt laughs. "Expect contact tomorrow. My accountant will make this very convincing."

Mordaunt hangs up. I sit in Father's chair, surrounded by Father's things, planning to frame my own brother for theft.

The guilt's there. Distant but present. This is wrong. I know it's wrong.

But it's necessary. Callum's too popular, too beloved, too much of an alternative. As long as the pack sees him as viable option, my authority's compromised.

If he's a thief, he's disqualified. Permanently.

That's not cruelty. That's practicality.

The vampire accountant arrives the next day. Female, looks forty, been dead two hundred years. She introduces herself as Mrs. Blackwood.

"Lord Mordaunt briefed me," Mrs. Blackwood says. We're in Father's study, door locked. "You need fabricated embezzlement evidence. Fifty thousand pounds, six months, offshore account."

"Correct."

"I'll need complete access to your financial systems. All passwords, all accounts, all records."

I provide them. Mrs. Blackwood sets up her laptop and starts working. I watch over her shoulder.

"First, we create the offshore account," Mrs. Blackwood explains. "Cayman Islands, under your brother's name. We'll use legitimate documents, real bank, everything authentic except the ownership."

"How do you fake ownership?"

"We don't fake it. We actually open the account in his name. Use his passport details, his signature from other documents. The account's real. Your brother just doesn't know it exists."

"Is that legal?"

"Absolutely not. But it's very difficult to disprove. By the time anyone investigates, the money's already been moved through the account. The trail exists."

Mrs. Blackwood types rapidly. Windows opening, forms filling automatically. She's done this before. Many times.

"Next, we create the transaction history," Mrs. Blackwood continues. "Small amounts, irregular intervals. Looks like someone's skimming carefully. Two thousand here, three thousand there. Nothing that triggers automatic alerts."

"From which accounts?"

"Pack operational accounts. The ones your brother has access to. We'll make it look like he approved legitimate expenditures, then redirected portions to his offshore account."

"But he didn't approve those expenditures."

"No. We're creating false records that say he did. Digital signatures, approval timestamps, all fabricated. But convincing." Mrs. Blackwood shows me sample transactions. "See? Pack pays contractor ten thousand pounds. Your brother approves it. But actually, eight thousand goes to contractor, two thousand gets diverted offshore. The contractor confirms they only received eight thousand. Looks like your brother pocketed the difference."

It's brilliant. Evil, but brilliant.

"How long will this take?"

"Three hours for the transaction history. Another two for the supporting documentation. By tonight, you'll have six months of convincing embezzlement evidence."

Mrs. Blackwood works. I watch, fascinated and horrified.

She's creating reality. False reality, but it'll be indistinguishable from truth. Digital records showing Callum stealing pack money. Bank statements proving offshore account exists. Contractor statements confirming discrepancies.

All of it fake. All of it perfectly convincing.

"One question," I say. "What if Callum proves he didn't open that account? Shows he never traveled to Cayman Islands, never signed those documents?"

"He can try. But we're using real passport data from a trip he did take. Two years ago, Cayman Islands, four days." Mrs. Blackwood shows me records. "Legitimate vacation. We're just adding a bank visit to his itinerary. And digital signatures don't require physical presence anymore. He could have opened the account remotely."

"You've thought of everything."

"That's what Lord Mordaunt pays me for. Untraceable financial crimes." Mrs. Blackwood smiles. Not pleasantly. "Your brother won't be able to disprove this. At best, he'll look incompetent for not noticing the discrepancies. At worst, he'll look guilty."

By eight PM, it's done. Mrs. Blackwood shows me the complete fabrication.

Fifty transactions over six months. Fifty thousand pounds diverted to offshore account. All tied to Callum's approvals, Callum's signatures, Callum's supposed oversight.

"The final step is physical evidence," Mrs. Blackwood says. "Bank statements, withdrawal slips, account details. Plant them somewhere your brother might keep sensitive documents. Make it look like he was tracking his theft."

"Where would I plant them?"

"His room. His car. His office if he has one. Somewhere private but discoverable during investigation."

Mrs. Blackwood hands me a folder. Physical documents, professionally printed, looking years old.

"This is brilliant work," I say.

"This is terrible work. Morally reprehensible." Mrs. Blackwood packs her laptop. "But technically brilliant, yes. Lord Mordaunt will bill you separately for my services."

"How much?"

"Twenty thousand pounds. Plus I was never here. You created these documents yourself, if anyone asks."

"Understood."

Mrs. Blackwood leaves. I'm alone with the fabricated evidence and my guilt.

I could stop this. Could destroy the documents, delete the transactions, pretend this never happened.

But I don't.

Instead, I review the evidence one more time. Making sure it's perfect. Making sure it'll convince the pack that Callum's a thief.

Declan appears in the doorway. I didn't hear him approach.

"What's that?" Declan asks, gesturing to the folder.

"Pack business."

"Looked like bank statements."

"They are. I'm reviewing finances."

Declan enters fully. Closes the door. "Cormac, what are you doing?"

"Protecting the pack."

"By fabricating evidence against your brother?" Declan's voice is hard. "I saw the vampire leave. I know what you're doing."

Panic flares. "You don't know anything."

"I know enough. You're framing Callum for embezzlement. Creating false transactions, offshore accounts, all of it." Declan moves closer. "I'm your Beta. I have access to pack finances. I can see when records are altered."

Silence. I'm caught.

"Are you going to stop me?" I ask.

"Are you sure about this?" Declan counters. "Once you accuse Callum, there's no taking it back. The pack will believe it. They'll exile him. You'll destroy your own brother."

"He's already destroying me. Just by existing. Just by being the alternative everyone wishes was Alpha."

"That's paranoia."

"That's reality." I stand. Face Declan directly. "The pack questions me constantly. Every decision I make gets compared to what Callum would do. Every hard choice makes wolves wish the kind twin was in charge instead. As long as Callum's viable option, I can't lead effectively."

"So you're manufacturing crimes to disqualify him?"

"I'm documenting crimes he would've committed eventually. He's too soft, too trusting. Someone would've exploited him. I'm just accelerating the timeline."

Declan stares at me. "You actually believe that."

"I have to believe it. Otherwise, I'm just a monster framing his innocent brother." I sit back down. "Are you going to help me or oppose me?"

Declan's silent for a long time. Weighing options. Deciding where his loyalty lies.

"I'm Beta," Declan says finally. "My loyalty is to the Alpha. If you say this is necessary, I'll support you. But Cormac, understand what you're doing. This isn't protection. This is fratricide without the blood."

"I know."

"And you're doing it anyway?"

"I'm doing it because I have to. Because the alternative is losing everything to a brother who doesn't even want it." I meet Declan's eyes. "Will you help me?"

Declan exhales slowly. "What do you need?"

Relief floods through me. "I need you to confirm discrepancies when I present them to pack elders. Verify that transactions don't match records. Look confused and concerned, not complicit."

"You want me to lie to the pack."

"I want you to support your Alpha. Same as you did for my father."

"Your father never asked me to frame an innocent wolf."

"My father never had a twin brother threatening his position." I push the folder toward Declan. "This is happening. With or without your support. But it'll be more convincing with you backing me."

Declan takes the folder. Reviews the fabricated evidence. His expression is unreadable.

"This is very good work," Declan says quietly. "Whoever made this knew what they were doing."

"Mordaunt's accountant. Vampire, two hundred years old, specializes in financial crimes."

"Of course." Declan closes the folder. "When are you planning to reveal this?"

"Next month. Let the evidence age. Make it look like I discovered the theft during routine audit, not immediately after manufacturing it."

"And Callum?"

"Callum gets confronted privately first. Given chance to confess. When he denies it, because he will deny it, we take it to pack elders. Show them the evidence. Let them draw conclusions."

"They'll exile him."

"They'll have to. Pack law is clear. Theft from pack assets is exile-level offense."

"And you'll have eliminated your brother without killing him."

"Exactly." I take the folder back. "Are you with me?"

Declan's silent. Then: "I'm with you. God help us both."

That night, I enter Callum's room. My brother's at pack meeting, won't be back for hours.

His room is neat, organized, exactly like him. Books alphabetized, clothes folded, desk clear. Everything in its place.

I plant the evidence in his desk drawer. Bottom drawer, under old files. Not immediately visible but discoverable during investigation.

Bank statements showing offshore account. Withdrawal slips matching embezzled amounts. Handwritten notes about transaction timing. All fabricated. All convincing.

I step back. Look at the planted evidence.

This is it. Point of no return. Once this is discovered, Callum's destroyed.

I could still stop this. Could remove the evidence. Could confess what I've done.

But I don't.

I leave his room, close the door, and go to my own quarters.

The frame is complete. The trap is set. All that remains is waiting for the right moment to spring it.

My brother's going to be convicted of crimes he didn't commit. Exiled from the pack he loves. Destroyed by the system he trusts.

And I'm the one doing it to him.

The guilt's there. Heavy, crushing, constant.

But the relief's there too. Soon, Callum won't be an option. Won't be a threat. Won't be a comparison.

I'll be the only Alpha. The only choice.

That's worth any price. Even my soul.