Hate Me Closer

Chapter 30: Leverage

Nadia cracked the diaries on a Tuesday, and the first thing she said was: "You're going to want to sit down."

They sat — Aria, Dorian, Margot — in the warehouse, surrounded by screens. Nadia pulled up two documents side by side: the codicil Caleb had filed, and a page from Reginald's diary dated 2019.

"Look at the signature," Nadia said. "The codicil's 'R.V.' — and the diary's 'R.V.' Same hand, right?"

"They look identical," Dorian said.

"They're too identical." Nadia zoomed in. "See these micro-tremors? In the diary, from 2019 — Reginald was seventy-four, his hand shook. Natural variation, pressure changes, the little wobbles of age. Now the codicil — dated three months before his death, when he'd be seventy-eight and sicker. It should shake MORE." She overlaid the images. "Instead, it's cleaner. Steadier. It's a tracing — someone copied the 2019 signature and smoothed it. A good forgery. But a forgery."

"Can you prove that in court?" Okafor asked — she was on speakerphone, and she'd gone very quiet.

"I can prove it to a forensic document examiner, who can prove it to a judge. The paper, too — the codicil's stock was manufactured in 2024. Reginald died in 2022." Nadia grinned savagely. "Your forger bought new paper, Caleb. Rookie mistake."

Dorian let out a breath like he'd been holding it for weeks. "The witnesses?"

"One's dead. The other —" Nadia pulled up a face. "— is a notary in Yonkers who'll swear to anything for five hundred bucks. Okafor's investigator is visiting him tomorrow with a better offer: immunity."

"It's over," Margot whispered. "The petition collapses."

"The petition collapses," Okafor confirmed. "I'll file the forensic report Thursday. The AG will drop the review. The freeze lifts." A pause. "You people do good work."

After she hung up, Aria turned to Nadia. "And the other thing? The ledger?"

Nadia's grin faded. "Yeah. That." She pulled up a spreadsheet — dates, initials, amounts, spanning thirty years. "J.P. Got nearly two million dollars over three decades. Regular as rent. H.F. — smaller, stopped ten years ago. S.K. — one payment, huge, right before Reginald died."

"J.P.," Dorian said slowly. "You still think—"

"I ran every J.P. in Reginald's orbit. Lawyers, bankers, board members." Nadia hesitated. "There's only one who fits the pattern — the amounts spike whenever the board voted on something Reginald wanted. And the last payment — a month before Reginald died, marked 'final,' with 'insurance policy' in the margin —"

"Stop." Aria's voice was sharp. "Just — tell me it's not him."

Nadia looked at her with something like grief. "I can't yet. I need one more piece — the bank records. I've got a source working on it. Forty-eight hours."

"Jonathan Pryce wept at my father's portrait," Aria said quietly. "He held my hand at my wedding."

"I know."

"He's eighty-one years old—"

"I know, Aria."

Dorian put his arm around her. "We don't know anything yet."

But they all knew the shape of it — the terrible, familiar shape of a truth assembling itself out of shadows.

The second breakthrough came that evening, from an unexpected direction.

Ray Delgado walked into Diane Okafor's office and asked for a deal.

"He's scared," Okafor reported by phone. "Caleb's creditors found him — same London crew. They want the blackmail material for themselves, as leverage over Caleb. Delgado's caught between a prosecutor and a loan shark, and he chose the prosecutor." She paused. "He's handing over every copy — the relay screenshots, the expense reports, all of it. In exchange, I don't refer him for prosecution, and he leaves the country."

"Do we believe him?" Aria asked.

"We verify. Nadia gets the drives first, confirms the inventory, then he goes." Okafor's voice was dry. "It's not justice. It's triage. Take it."

They took it. That night, in the warehouse, Nadia went through Delgado's drives methodically — every file, every copy, every backup. Margot cross-checked the inventory against Okafor's list of what the blackmailer had claimed to hold. Nothing missing. Nothing held back.

"It's all here," Nadia said finally. "And it's all going in the shredder — digital and otherwise." She looked at Aria. "You're clean. No copies in the wild. It's over."

Aria sat down hard. Two years of dread — of checking over her shoulder, of waiting for the knock — lifted off her chest all at once. She laughed, and then she was crying, and Dorian held her while Nadia pretended to be very busy with cables.

"It's over," Aria whispered.

"The blackmail's over," Dorian corrected gently. "Caleb's still out there. And the —" He glanced at the spreadsheet still glowing on the monitor. "The other thing."

"I know." She wiped her eyes. "One war at a time."

Her phone buzzed. Simone Park: "Ms. Cole — I'm running the forgery story tomorrow. 'Caleb Vale's codicil a fake, experts say.' Care for a comment?"

Aria showed Dorian the screen. He smiled — the first real smile in weeks.

"Tell her," he said, "'no comment.'"

"You're enjoying this."

"Immensely." He kissed her forehead. "Come on. Let's go home. Tomorrow, Park buries him. Thursday, Okafor ends the freeze. And Saturday—"

"Saturday?"

"The foundation's emergency gala. The 'Save the Arts Wing' fundraiser." His eyes gleamed. "Two hundred guests, black tie, and Caleb Vale with an invitation he can't refuse. I want him there when the floor falls out from under him."

Aria grinned. "You're devious when you're happy."

"I'm devious when I'm married." He took her hand. "Come on, Mrs. Vale. Let's go set a trap."