I found them sleeping on a marble bench inside my bank—one exhausted mother and a six-year-old girl hugging a torn rabbit.

He had been using their company as a laundering channel.

Fake vendor invoices.

Offshore accounts.

Campaign donations funneled through shell firms.

My parents had signed papers they didn’t understand, trusting a man who planned to use them as disposable shields.

I called the one person Victor should have feared.

“Clara?” Agent Naomi Price answered.

“Remember continue reading …