Chapter 8 - The Actuary's Trap
The next morning, I sat in an interrogation room at the precinct.
Adrian’s high-priced defense attorney, Mr. Sterling—no relation—sat across from me, looking stressed.
“My client insists that you manipulated the financial software to frame him,” the lawyer said aggressively.
“Your client can’t even open a PDF without Marisol’s help,” I replied, unblinking.
“We have emails from your account authorizing the Cayman transfers,” he countered, sliding a printed email across the metal table.
I glanced at it. It was dated August 14th.
“I didn’t send this,” I said.
“The IP address traces back to your home network, Vivian,” the lawyer smirked, thinking he had won.
“August 14th,” I repeated, looking up at him. “Check the time stamp.”
He frowned, looking down at the paper. “3:15 PM. So what?”
“At 3:15 PM on August 14th, my daughter was in the middle of open-heart surgery.”
The room went dead silent.
“I was sitting in the waiting room at Mount Sinai hospital, surrounded by twenty witnesses,” I continued, my voice sharp as glass.
“So unless I have telekinesis, I didn’t authorize that transfer from my home desktop.”
The lawyer swallowed hard, pulling the paper back.
“Adrian sent it,” I stated, leaning forward.
“He logged into my old account to create a scapegoat because he knew the audit was coming.”
The attorney closed his briefcase with a heavy snap.
He knew his client was doomed.
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“He’s going to prison, isn’t he?” the lawyer muttered.
“For a very long time,” I agreed.
