Chapter 194 The Final Proof

Chapter 194 The Final Proof
Lena’s POV

The celebration after the victory should have felt lighter. The team had moved one step closer to the championship, and the arena still echoed with cheering fans. Players laughed in the hallway. Families hugged one another outside the locker room, yet I could not shake the feeling that someone was watching us.

Ryan noticed before I said a word. “You have been quiet.”

I looked at him. “I cannot stop thinking about that photograph.”

“The one that was sent to your phone?” He asked.

I nodded. “And the delayed board vote.”

He slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. “I have been thinking about both.”

We walked slowly through the restricted corridor toward the private elevators. Security officers stood at every entrance. After Detective Harper’s warning, the league had increased protection for players and their families. Even so, I did not feel completely safe.

Ryan reached for my hand. “You are cold.”

“I did not realise it,” I muttered.

“You are worried.” He said.

“I am,” I whispered.

He stopped walking. “Lena.”

I looked up. “We are going to find whoever has been doing this.”

“I know,” I muttered.

“I mean it," he said.

“I know,” I replied.

Before either of us could continue, Detective Harper stepped out of a nearby conference room. She looked exhausted. “I have been looking for both of you.”

Ryan nodded. “Did you find something?”

She looked around the hallway before speaking. “I would rather not discuss it here.” She opened the conference room door. “Please come inside.”

The room was empty except for a large television mounted on the wall, and a laptop sat open on the conference table. Another detective adjusted several video files, and Detective Harper closed the door behind us.

“What happened?” I asked.

She looked directly at Ryan. “We finally traced the surveillance network.”

Ryan frowned. “The one following us?”

“Yes.” She picked up a remote and turned on the television.

The screen displayed security footage from different locations. The hospital, the practice facility, the charity event, and the restaurant where Ryan and I had dinner weeks earlier. The footage even included the parking garage outside our apartment.

I felt my stomach tighten. “They were everywhere.”

Detective Harper nodded. “They were.”

Ryan stared at the screen. “Who authorised all of this?”

The detective pressed another button. One image froze; it showed a man standing beside two security contractors. His face was clear.

Ryan’s expression changed immediately. “No.”

I looked closer, and I recognised him too.
Richard Moretti. The league’s former director of player performance, the same executive who had repeatedly dismissed concerns about hidden medical reports and the same man who had insisted injured players return before they were fully recovered.

“He was supposed to be under investigation,” I said quietly.

“He was.” Detective Harper folded her arms. “Our investigators believed he manipulated internal reports.” She paused. “We did not know he had expanded into personal surveillance.”

Ryan stepped closer to the screen. “What exactly are we looking at?”

The second detective opened another file. “It is an access log recovered from a private security company.” He pointed to several highlighted entries. “Every surveillance request required executive approval.”

He clicked again, and a digital signature appeared at the bottom of each authorisation.

R. Moreeti.

Ryan looked at the detective. “Can that signature be forged?”

“It could.” The detective nodded. “So we verified it another way.”

He opened a folder containing payment records. Several invoices appeared on the screen; each one had been approved through the same private consulting company. The final payment authorisation carried Hartman’s personal corporate identification number.

Detective Harper spoke quietly. “We confirmed it with financial investigators this afternoon.” She looked directly at us. “Richard Moreeti personally approved the surveillance.”

Silence filled the room.

I struggled to understand why anyone would spend so much time watching us.

Ryan asked the question first. “Why?”

Detective Harper took a slow breath. “We believe the surveillance was never about your relationship.” She clicked to the final image, and it showed Ryan leaving the hospital after surgery. Moreeti stood across the street speaking to another man whose face remained hidden beneath a baseball cap.

Detective Harper zoomed in. “The surveillance increased immediately after your surgery.”

Ryan frowned. “What changed?”

The detective met his eyes. “You refused to follow Richard's recovery timeline.”

I felt my heart sink. “So this started because Ryan chose his own doctors.”

She nodded. “That appears to be the beginning.”

Ryan shook his head slowly. “He was willing to destroy people’s lives because I refused to risk my shoulder.”

Detective Harper looked down at another document. “There is more.” She hesitated. “We found one final authorisation."

The room became completely silent.

“It was signed only three days ago.” She said.

Ryan stared at her.

“But Moreeti resigned last week. Officially.” She placed the final document on the table between us. “He never actually stopped giving orders.”

Before Ryan could respond, someone tried the locked conference room door. The handle turned once, then twice. Every person in the room looked toward the entrance; someone was outside, and whoever it was…had a key.

Every conversation stopped. Detective Harper raised one hand, signalling for everyone to stay quiet. The handle turned again. This time, it moved further. One of the detectives stepped toward the door without making a sound; he rested his hand on the holster at his side. Ryan instinctively moved closer to me, and he placed himself between me and the entrance.

I touched his arm. “You do not have to do that.”
“I do.”

His voice remained calm. “I am not taking chances anymore.”

Another soft click came from the lock.

Then a familiar voice spoke through the door. “Harper, it is Grant.”

The detective beside the door looked back at Harper. She nodded, and he unlocked the door carefully. Detective Grant walked inside carrying a sealed evidence box.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not realise you had locked it.”

Harper let out a slow breath. “You nearly gave everyone a heart attack.”

Grant managed a weary smile. “I brought the forensic report.” He placed the evidence box on the conference table. “I thought you would want to see it immediately.”

Harper opened the box. Inside were several folders, a tablet, and a clear evidence bag. The bag contained a small black device.

Ryan looked at it. “What is that?”

Grant picked it up carefully. “It is a miniature GPS tracker.”

I frowned. “Where did you find it?”

Grant looked at me. “On your car.”

I felt my stomach drop. “My car?”

He nodded. “It was attached underneath the rear bumper with an industrial magnetic mount.”

Ryan’s expression hardened. “How long has it been there?”

Grant opened the report. “Our forensic team believes it has been transmitting location data for at least six weeks.”

I struggled to process what I had heard. “Six weeks?”

Grant nodded. “It recorded every trip. The hospital. The practice facility. The charity event. Your apartment and your clinic.

Ryan looked at me with visible guilt. “I should have checked.”

I shook my head immediately. “This is not your fault.”

Harper slid another document across the table.
“It becomes worse.”

Ryan looked at her.

“The tracker did not send information directly to Moreeti,” Harper said.

He frowned. “Who received it?”

She tapped a highlighted line in the report. “A private monitoring server.”

Grant connected the tablet to the television. A digital map filled the screen, and hundreds of small dots appeared across the city.

“What are we looking at?” I asked.

Grant answered quietly. “These are all the locations where the tracker transmitted your movements.”

I stared at the screen. The pattern was unsettling; someone had not been following us randomly. Every stop had been recorded, and every routine had been mapped.

Harper pointed toward several larger circles. “These places received repeated surveillance.”

She highlighted our apartment building, then the rehabilitation clinic. Then the children’s charity. Finally, the arena.

Ryan crossed his arms carefully. “They were studying patterns.”

“Exactly.” She said.

Grant nodded. “They wanted to know where you would be before you arrived.”

Harper opened the final folder inside the evidence box. “There is one piece of evidence we almost missed.”

She removed a printed email. The sender’s address belonged to Moreeti's private consulting company, and the recipient’s name was blacked out. Ryan looked at the first line, and his face lost all colour.

“What is it?” I asked.

He handed me the page. The subject line read: Continue surveillance until Kade signs. Escalate pressure if necessary.

I looked back at Harper. “What does ‘signs’ mean?”

She met my eyes. “We believe it refers to the settlement agreement.”

Ryan understood immediately. “They wanted me to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

Grant nodded. “The agreement would have prevented you from speaking publicly about the hidden medical reports.”

Silence settled over the room.

Everything finally made sense. The surveillance, the pressure, and the intimidation. None of it had been random; it had all been designed to force Ryan into silence. Harper’s phone rang, and she answered immediately. After only a few seconds, her expression changed.

She looked directly at Ryan. “We have located Richard Moreeti.”

Ryan stood. “Where is he?”

Harper ended the call. “He just entered the owners’ boardroom.” She paused. “And according to security…” “He is asking to speak with you alone.”