“Dad, Silas is a good man.”

Arthur studied me for a moment.

“I hope you’re right, sweetheart.”

Those words would haunt me later.

Silas quickly adapted to our wealthy lifestyle.

Expensive suits replaced his ordinary jackets.

He began attending private business events and traveling internationally.

Meanwhile, his mother, Beatrice, became increasingly involved in our lives.

She criticized my work schedule, questioned my ability to manage a home, and constantly reminded me how fortunate I was to have her son.

I tolerated it.

I believed families needed patience.

What I didn’t understand was that patience had become an invitation for manipulation.

Back in the interrogation room, I told Detective Callahan about Silas’s offshore finances.

“Check his Swiss bank account,” I said. “The last four digits are 8824.”

Callahan sat straighter.

“How do you know about that account?”

“I discovered it during an internal financial review. I didn’t confront him because I wanted to understand what he was hiding.”

I took a breath.

“He’s been gambling. I believe he owes an enormous amount of money.”

“How enormous?”

“Possibly fifty million dollars.”

Callahan stared at me.

“That’s a serious allegation.”

“I know.”

I pointed toward my father’s medical report.

“There’s also something wrong with the timeline. The preliminary findings suggest the exposure happened earlier than investigators originally assumed.”

Callahan opened the report again.

“Go on.”

“At five that afternoon, I was attending a board meeting. There are recordings and more than twenty witnesses.”

“And your husband?”

“Silas and Beatrice were having tea with my father.”

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then Callahan gathered the documents.

“We’ll look into it.”

Two hours later, he returned with Silas.

My husband entered wearing a black suit and an expression of overwhelming sadness.

“Eleanor,” he whispered, “how could you do this to Arthur?”

He reached toward me.

I pulled away.

“Silas, stop pretending.”

He looked wounded.

“How can you say that? I’m your husband.”

“Then explain the Swiss account.”

His expression flickered.

“What account?”

“The one ending in 8824.”

Silas glanced toward Callahan.

“My wife is under terrible stress. She isn’t thinking clearly.”

I kept watching him.

“And the fifty million dollars you lost gambling?”

This time, he couldn’t hide his surprise.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Then you won’t mind investigators examining your transactions.”

Silas straightened his jacket.

“Of course not. I have nothing to hide.”

He turned toward the detective.

“But you already have evidence against Eleanor. Don’t let her distract you.”

Callahan informed him that the financial investigation would continue.

Silas nodded politely.

Then, as he approached the door, he looked back at me.

His sorrow disappeared.

For one brief second, he smiled.

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