Chapter 3: Sins of the Father
Chapter 3: Sins of the Father
“What is this?” Senator Hastings demanded, though the sweat pouring down his forehead suggested he already knew.
“This,” I said, walking toward the screens, “is the real Hawthorne Foundation. A multi-billion-dollar money-laundering syndicate, masquerading as a tax-exempt charity for the preservation of historical artifacts.”
I pointed to a specific document glowing in harsh blue light.
“For twenty years, Richard Holloway has used this museum to wash dirty money. Cartels. Illegal weapons syndicates. Corporate espionage. They donate 'priceless' artifacts, artificially appraise them at a thousand times their value, auction them to you—his loyal friends—and the clean money goes right back to the syndicates.”
Grant’s face went pale. “You’re bluffing. You don't have proof.”
“Grant,” I said, almost pitying him. “I bought the foundation. I own the servers. I own the vaults. I have every ledger, every receipt, and every digital signature your father ever tried to delete.”
I turned to the crowd. I recognized CEOs of pharmaceutical companies, hedge fund managers, and media moguls.
“And I know exactly which of you bought what. I know who took the tax write-offs. I know who facilitated the transfers.”
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The room erupted into chaos. Men in tuxedos started yelling at each other. A tech billionaire threw his champagne glass at the wall. The fragile alliance of the elite was shattering in real-time. They were no longer untouchable masters of the universe; they were rats in a trap, ready to eat each other to survive.
“You’re all accessories,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “And the FBI has already received the first data packet.”
