Cora Winslow bothered.
"They were clever," she told me, taking off her glasses. "But clever people always think the trail ends where they stop looking. It never does. The money remembers where it went, Paige. It always remembers."
Chapter 4: The Numbers Speak
It took a year to reopen the case. Howard's forensic report, my hidden documents, the access logs, the shell-company filings — my new attorney walked all of it into a hearing to vacate my conviction.
The courtroom was full. Wesley was there, because he'd been subpoenaed. So was Claudia, still wearing the Rolex, so sure of herself she'd worn our father's watch to the very proceeding that would end her.
Howard laid it out, number by number, log by log. The shell company. The maiden name. The office IP. The hospital records placing me forty miles from a crime I was convicted of committing.
When he reached the timestamps — the proof that every "fraudulent" transfer had happened while I was demonstrably at Maureen's bedside — the entire courtroom went silent.
