Noah studied it for less than a minute.
“Their fraud is not sophisticated,” he said.
“No?”
“No. It is arrogant.”
That made me laugh.
He highlighted three clusters.
One was a shell investment fund Everett had named Horizon Youth Initiative, supposedly designed to finance educational technology for underprivileged children. In reality, most of its money had been routed into Vivian’s overseas accounts and private luxury purchases.
The second was a false user-growth project called Lantern, which inflated Blackwell Meridian’s software subscription numbers with bots and dead accounts.
The third was a payroll diversion scheme. For months, lower-level employees had been told bonuses were delayed because of “market volatility.” Everett had used that money to support the stock price before a major financing round.
Noah looked up at me. “Do we expose all of it?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Everett still thinks tomorrow is his victory.”
Noah nodded, understanding immediately. “The psychological impact increases if collapse occurs at peak confidence.”
“You are five,” I said. “You should not sound like a hostile takeover memo.”
“I am almost six.”
“That changes everything.”
He smiled, and for one second he looked like a normal little boy again.
I touched his hair.
“Tomorrow, after the divorce decree is final, we release the evidence to the right people. Regulators, journalists, creditors, employees. No theatrics that could hurt innocent people. No illegal access. We use what we already have and what Everett gave us himself.”
Noah glanced at my handbag.
The check.
The envelope.
The evidence.
