"You're calling him now?"
Lucien already had the phone against his ear, his back to me, his shoulders set in a way I hadn't seen since the morning he first offered me his hand.
"Answer, old man." His voice was low. Controlled. "I know you're awake."
I sat frozen in the wheelchair, the laptop screen still glowing between us, the transfer to his father's account burning itself into my memory. Four years. Long before Caleb had ever looked twice in my direction.
The line connected. I couldn't hear the other side, only Lucien's face changing as he listened, hardening by degrees.
"I have a record in front of me," he said. "A transfer to your personal account. Six months before Caleb married Elena Kingsley."
Silence.
"Don't tell me you don't remember it. I'm looking at the routing number r
