Page 67 of You, Only You

Chen gave me a small nod. The defense attorneys watched me the way cats watched movement through a window. And Reeves smiled at me, pleasant and warm, the kind of smile that belonged on a man offering you lemonade on his porch.

You tried to kill me, I thought, holding his gaze as I passed. You sent men to cut my brake lines and run me off a road. And you're sitting there looking like you'd help a stranger carry groceries.

My father had smiled like that too. Not the same smile, but the same architecture. Warmth over nothing. Performance all the way down.

The oath was dry in my mouth. I sat in the witness chair, adjusted the microphone, and folded my hands in my lap. The tremor in my fingers was manageable if I kept them interlaced. Manageable was the best I had today.

"Please state your name and occupation for the record," Chen began.

"Lindsey Ashford. I'm a certified forensic accountant specializing in financial crime investigation."

"And how did you become involved in the investigation of Meridian Tech?"

"I was originally retained by the state bar to conduct a compliance audit of Sterling & Steele Law. During that audit, I discovered financial irregularities that led to a broader investigation."

Chen walked me through the evidence. This was my territory. Shell companies, discretionary fund transfers, the correlation between payment timestamps and victim transportationtimelines. Numbers. Structure. The language I spoke better than English. I explained the trail clearly, pointing to exhibits and charts that laid the story out in the only medium that couldn't lie: mathematics.

"And these transfers," Chen said, "they originated from accounts personally controlled by the defendant?"

"Yes. The authorization codes trace directly to Victor Reeves's personal credentials. His login token. His encryption key. There's no ambiguity."

I felt Reeves's gaze on me. Not the grandfatherly version. The real one, flat and measuring, the look of a man calculating whether you were a problem worth solving or just an inconvenience to be managed. I met it briefly. The hatred underneath his composure was so pure it was almost impressive. Concentrated. Like something distilled.

I looked away first. Not because I was afraid. Because looking at that kind of emptiness too long made you start to feel empty yourself, and I needed everything I had for what was coming.

"Thank you, Ms. Ashford." Chen returned to her seat. "Your witness."

Marcus Webb rose from the defense table with the unhurried confidence of a man who'd done this a thousand times and enjoyed it every single time. Harvard Law, thirty years in, a reputation for dismantling witnesses while making the jury feel like he was doing them a favor.

"Ms. Ashford." His voice was warm. Collegial. Like we were old friends catching up. "Thank you for your testimony. Your expertise is clearly substantial."

"Thank you."

"I'd like to explore some background, if I may. You mentioned you're a forensic accountant. That means your entire professional value rests on objectivity, correct?"

"Yes."

"The numbers speak for themselves, as they say?"

"That's the idea."

"Then let's talk about the person interpreting those numbers." He picked up a tablet, scrolling with an ease that was entirely performed. He already knew what was on that screen. "Your father is Thomas Ashford, isn't he?"

There it was. The hit I'd been bracing for since I'd walked in. The strange thing about bracing for a hit was that it didn't actually make it hurt less. It just meant you saw it coming, which was its own kind of awful.

"Yes."

"Currently serving a prison sentence for embezzlement?"

"Yes."

"Twelve million dollars stolen from a pension fund. Forty-three families who lost their retirement savings." Webb's voice stayed sympathetic, which was the most dangerous thing about it. "That must have been devastating for you as a young woman."

"Objection." Chen was on her feet. "Relevance?"

"Goes to the witness's potential bias and judgment, Your Honor," Webb said, smooth as something poured. "I'll connect it shortly."

The judge, a tired-looking woman who appeared to have seen every trick in every book and was unimpressed by all of them, nodded. "I'll allow it. But get to the point, counselor."