Chapter 3

3

The next noon, at the Korean restaurant.

Kevin sat in a corner booth, a bowl of cold noodles untouched in front of him.

He looked much older than in my memory. His hair was thinning, his glasses had been replaced with thicker lenses, and his eyes were dark―the marks of long-term sleep deprivation.

“Sit.”

I sat down.

He took a brown paper envelope from his bag and pushed it toward me.

“Open it.”

I opened the envelope. Inside was a stack of printed emails and transaction records.

The first document: An email. The sender was Caspian Sterling, the recipient was his lawyer. The date was seven years and one month ago―three days after I signed the confession.

The email contained only two lines:

“The confession is signed. There won’t be any problems with Elena. The SEC investigation ends here.”

The second document: Another email. The sender was Caspian Sterling, the recipient was a person named “Richard Wang.”

“The signature on the confession is real, but the amounts and transfer records are all forged by me. Help me destroy the original data.”

The third document: A bank statement. It showed that during the investigation, Caspian Sterling transferred $3.5 million from the company account into three different offshore accounts.

The fourth document: A board meeting record. It detailed Caspian reporting to the board that the SEC investigation had been “resolved” and the “responsible party had been brought to justice.” The meeting date: two weeks after I was sentenced.

My hands were shaking.

Not from the cold. It was the truth of seven years suddenly laid out on the table.

“How did you get these?” I asked.

“I’ve worked in the company’s IT department for seven years. Caspian thought he deleted all the email records, but the company server has backups. He didn’t know I had admin privileges.”

“Why are you giving them to me now?”

Kevin took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his sleeve.

“Because I’ve had enough.”

He put his glasses back on and looked into my eyes.

“Elena, before you went to prison, I had a crush on you. You probably didn’t know.”

I didn’t speak.

“After you took the fall for him, I wanted to tell you the truth. But I was afraid. I was afraid he’d retaliate. I have a wife and two kids.”

“Then why aren’t you afraid now?”

“Because my daughter asked me last month, ‘Daddy, why is our company run by a bad guy?’”

He looked down at the table.

“I didn’t know how to answer her.”

I tucked the envelope into my canvas bag.

“Thank you, Kevin.”

“Elena, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to the police. This evidence proves Caspian Sterling was the mastermind behind that case. I can apply for a retrial.”

“Then be careful.”

“I know.”

I walked out of the restaurant.

People came and went on the streets of Manhattan, none of them noticing me.

I walked quickly toward the nearest subway station―I was going to the federal prosecutor’s office in Long Island to submit these documents.

But my phone rang.

An unknown number.

I answered.

“Ms. Elena Vance.”

It was a woman’s voice. Elegant, composed, with a tone that didn’t need to be raised to convey a threat.

“I’m Genevieve Montgomery. I don’t know if you’ve heard the name?”

“I have.”

“Tomorrow is my wedding with Caspian. I didn’t want to bother you on a day like this. But someone told me you went to see an employee of ours today.”

I stopped in my tracks.

“My people saw you leaving that Korean restaurant with a brown paper envelope in your hand.”

She was watching me.

No, not her―Caspian Sterling’s people. Caspian was watching Kevin.

“Elena, I don’t care about your past with Caspian. But I care very much about what’s written in those documents.”

“Guess.”

There was a two-second silence on the other end.

“You’re a smart woman. It’s not easy to be this calm after seven years in prison. But smart people are sometimes too confident.”

“What do you want to say?”

“I want to invite you over. We’re at the Plaza Hotel. Before the wedding tomorrow, there are some things that need to be clarified in person.”

“I have no interest in attending your wedding.”

“It’s not an invitation to the wedding. It’s an invitation to make a deal.”

She gave me an address. The Plaza Hotel, third floor, a private room.

“If you don’t come, your father’s VIP room at Long Island Jewish Medical Center will be canceled tomorrow. And the surgery will be off.”

She hung up.

I stood at the subway entrance, clutching my phone.

The brown paper envelope in my canvas bag felt heavy.

I didn’t hesitate for long.

I went to the Plaza Hotel.