Jake
I knew that number.
I hadn’t seen it in years, but I knew it.
094-A.
My father’s trust attorney had assigned it when I was twenty-six and convinced that having money meant letting other people handle paperwork I didn’t give a damn about.
Now Derek Blackwell had used it to manufacture a paternity report for Emma’s unborn child.
“Jake?”
Emma’s voice pulled me back.
I realized I’d been staring at the page.
“That identifier shouldn’t exist anywhere outside the Steele family trust archive.”
Sterling’s expression hardened. “Who has access?”
“Me. The trustees. Our attorneys.”
“And Sophia,” Nash added.
I looked at him.
“She maintains the club’s encrypted emergency files.”
“She doesn’t have trust access.”
Sterling took the report back. “Then we find the breach before assuming a
