Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 555

The sunlight streaming through the window hit the desk, blindingly bright.

Quentin slowly sat up straight.

"Which three?"

The man on the other end hesitated.

Quentin lowered his voice to a lethal register.

"Tell me."

"The first project coordination consulting fee, the second phased service payment, and the third tech verification transfer service fee."

Quentin's face drained of color.

"Didn't you say the old accounts were scrubbed clean?"

The accountant sounded panicked.

"Mr. Whitaker, those were Vanguard's independent filings, not Whitaker Corporate's. I could handle the Whitaker side, but I had no jurisdiction over Vanguard's raw tax archives."

Quentin squeezed the phone in a death grip.

"Shut up. Never mention this on the phone again."

He hung up, his chest heaving violently.

The study door hadn't been completely shut.

Lydia stood outside, looking sickly pale.

"They found Vanguard?"

Quentin whipped his head around.

"Who told you to eavesdrop?"

Lydia stepped inside, her voice shaking.

"Answer me. Did they trace the money?"

"They don't have the full bank statements," Quentin spat coldly. "Just the old filings."

"Old filings are more than enough to ruin us!" Lydia's eyes filled with panicked tears. "The timeline for those payments is way too close. Vivian had just died, and you were collecting massive payouts. What do you think people are going to assume?"

Quentin violently swept a teacup off the desk.

It shattered into pieces against the floor.

"Those were project service fees!"

Lydia recoiled in terror.

"Yelling at me won't fix this! Yesterday you were on TV claiming Vivian was emotionally unstable, and today they discover you were taking money right after she died. How are you going to spin that?"

Quentin stood there panting, his face a terrifying shade of gray.

He had stepped forward yesterday to reframe the entire ordeal as a bitter family feud.

As long as everyone believed Vivian had been mentally unwell, Wren's attempts to use the old case to drum up publicity for Stellaris would be seen as a desperate stunt. The sharp edge of the finalized first page would be instantly blunted.

But money was different.

Money didn't care about emotions.

Money only cared about timelines.

Twenty-six days before Vivian's death.

Twelve days after her funeral.

Right after the Apex tech verification.

Once those three payments went public, the narrative he had carefully constructed would be shredded to pieces.