I looked at him.
“Alex.”
He stared at the floor.
“What did you hide in that apartment?”
His silence was an answer.
Maya swore softly.
Sophie whispered, “Dad?”
Finally, Alex said, “Evidence.”
Nineteen years earlier, Alex explained, Martin Vale had not simply stolen money.
He had sold information.
Names.
Shipping routes.
Financial records.
He had worked with a group that laundered money through property companies, casinos, construction firms, charities, and political donations.
Alex had discovered pieces of it too late.
By then, several men were dead.
“Were you part of it?” Sophie asked.
Alex didn't lie.
“Parts of my business weren't legal.”
My chest tightened despite already knowing this much.
He continued.
“I moved things without asking enough questions. Money. Merchandise. Sometimes people who didn't want their movements recorded.”
Sophie stared at him.
“Criminals?”
“Sometimes.”
“Were you one?”
Alex looked at his daughter.
“Yes.”
No excuse.
No justification.
Just the truth.
