(Naomi POV)
“That’s not possible.”
Julian’s voice came out low, almost unrecognizable, as he stared at the letters spread across the cabinet’s single shelf. Naomi had never heard him sound like that before. Not angry. Unmoored.
She reached past him and picked up the top letter, the paper soft with age, ink faded but legible. Thomas Calloway’s handwriting, she recognized it now from the note still folded in her coat pocket, a habit she hadn’t been able to explain to herself for weeks.
Warren, if this gets out, we both lose everything. I’ll cover the shipment discrepancy on my end. You cover the accounts on yours. No one has to know either of us touched it.
Naomi’s stomach dropped. “This is dated three years before the trial.”
“Keep reading,” Vivian said quietly, from the doorway. She
