“That sounds worse every time you say it.”
“I know.”
“I knew you cut through Ashcombe Square on Thursdays.”
“I arranged private surveillance.”
“No one would have been allowed to disappear with the wallet.”
“So it wasn’t really a test.”
“It was.”
“Just controlled.”
“Yes.”
Rowan rubbed his forehead.
“You wealthy people have fascinating definitions.”
Vivian almost smiled.
Almost.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at her.
“Do not apologize because you need me cooperative.”
“I’m apologizing because it was wrong.”
Rowan nodded once.
“That’s better.”
They hired a document examiner that afternoon.
Not someone connected to Ashford Consolidated.
A retired forensic specialist named Elena Park who now worked independently.
She examined the notebook under magnification.
Ink sequence.
Pressure.
Page impressions.
Writing samples.
Two days later, her preliminary opinion confirmed Rowan’s observation.
The final entry had been written at a different time from the surrounding pages.
Possibly years later.
The handwriting was an imitation.
Good.
Not perfect.
More importantly, the page showed evidence of having been removed and reinserted.
Vivian stared at the report.
“He accessed the box.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can Henshaw tell us?”
“Henshaw can tell us what the records say.”
They returned to Waverly Trust.
Mr. Henshaw pulled access logs.
The box had one anomalous entry eight years earlier.
Authorized under a court order.
Vivian read the attorney name.
Her face changed.
“Who?”
Rowan asked.
“Law firm Gideon used.”
The order had supposedly related to dormant-account compliance.
The box was opened under supervision.
The clerk who witnessed it had retired.
The record showed no items removed.
Nothing about adding anything.
Rowan looked at Vivian.
“He knew.”
“At least eight years ago.”
“Why leave the genuine evidence?”
“Because perhaps he thought it was too old to matter.”
“Or because destroying it would prove someone opened it.”
Vivian nodded.
“And the forged instruction gave him something more useful.”
“A way to attack whatever happened after I found it.”
They began building the case properly.
No dramatic rush to police.
No midnight confrontation.
No public accusation.
Rowan insisted on verification.
Every number in Walter’s notebook became a question.
Every question required a source outside Walter’s own writing.
Vivian brought in Martin Saye, a forensic accountant who had spent twenty-five years tracing corporate fraud and looked more like a tired high-school math teacher than the man who had dismantled several major embezzlement schemes.
Martin’s first response to the notebook was not excitement.
It was skepticism.
“Handwritten notes are leads.”
“Not proof.”
Rowan liked him immediately.
Martin built a table.
Date.
Entity.
Amount.
Source.
Independent confirmation.
Disposition.
They worked for weeks.
Old state corporate filings.
Bankruptcy archives.
Property deeds.
Pension disclosures.
Audited financial statements.
Archived board packets Vivian had legally retained.
Public SEC exhibits.