Chapter 49
Elise's POV:
Transfer records. Bank statements. Photos of ledgers. Each piece of paper was individually sealed in a transparent document sleeve, numbered in sequence.
Julian put on his glasses and picked up the first one.
He didn't speak. Page by page, he read through them. Occasionally he paused to jot down a few words on a notepad. The sound of rustling papers was particularly clear in the quiet office.
Twenty minutes passed.
Forty minutes passed.
He set down the last document, removed his glasses, wiped the lenses with a handkerchief, then put them back on.
The expression on his face was hard to describe.
Not anger. Not shock. It was something deeper, like something slowly rising from the bottom of a very deep well.
"Worse than I imagined," he said, his voice terribly hoarse. "Far more than two-thirds."
"Eighty-one percent," I said. "The actual amount transferred out."
Julian nodded, offering no excessive reaction to that figure. Perhaps because no reaction could adequately express what lay behind that number.
"With these materials," he removed his glasses and placed them on the desk, his fingers interlaced on the surface, "we can apply to the court for asset freezing. File for an emergency injunction to prevent any further transfer of assets under the names of Benjamin Miller and Margaret Miller."
"How long until it's approved?"
"Normal procedure..." he paused, "at the fastest, two weeks. If the opposing counsel raises objections, it could drag on for over a month."
Two weeks to a month.
I had less than four days left.
"What if he transfers the money before the court freezes it?" I asked.
Julian fell silent for a long time.
Outside the office window came the sound of traffic. The angle of sunlight had already shifted, light and shadow sliding from the gaps in the blinds behind him to the edge of the desk.
"Then we'd need more direct pressure tactics," he finally said. "But I don't recommend you do this alone. Someone like Benjamin, when backed into a corner, is capable of anything. We need to—"
He didn't finish.
Because his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing.
"Sorry," he said. "I need to take this call. It might be about another case. You can wait here, or—"
"I'll go first." I stood up, leaving all the materials in front of him. "Keep the originals for now. I'll take the copies with me."
Julian nodded and answered the phone. As I walked out of the office, I heard him say "Hello? Who is—" before the rest was cut off by the closing door.
---
By the time I returned to the tattoo shop, the sky was already beginning to darken.
I habitually checked the mailbox by the entrance (actually a rusty little metal box hanging beside the iron door) to see if there were any letters.
Empty.
I pushed open the iron gate and bent down to pick up a flyer that had fallen on the ground—probably a promotional ad someone passing by had slipped in during the day.
When I reached the door to the studio, I stopped.
Something was wedged in the door crack.
A kraft paper envelope. Beige. The very ordinary kind you could buy at any stationery store. No stamp. No name. No writing of any kind.
I pulled it out.
Inside was a stack of papers.
Bank statement records.
I opened the first page, and after just one glance, my entire body froze.
This was a deposit statement for an overseas account.
Bank: Credit Suisse Private Wealth Management.
Account holder: Benjamin Miller.
Current balance: $1.42 million.
One point four two million.
This wasn't a small amount. But for someone who'd started as a driver, this was more money than he could possibly earn in a lifetime.
More importantly—
This account wasn't in any of the documents I'd found last night.
Not in the trust agreement. Not in the bank receipts. Not in the transfer vouchers. Not in any of the materials I'd gone through.
This was Benjamin's most deeply hidden sum of money.
A Swiss bank private account. An account that probably even Margaret didn't know about.
And this complete statement record—every deposit, every withdrawal, every timestamp—was now in my hands.