“You always ruin everything.” Those were my father's last words before he closed the curtains and left me lying twenty feet below his shattered second-floor window.

At three-thirty in the morning, Arthur Pendelton’s suburban home on the north side of Fairbanks was dark and quiet.

Detective Vance parked three houses down to avoid alerting the neighbors, while Rosalind and I waited in the back seat. Vance walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell—once, twice, and then a steady, authoritative knock.

A minute later, the porch light flickered on. The front door cracked open an inch, secured by a metal chain. A terrified-looking man in a flannel bathrobe peered out through the gap.

“Can I help you? It’s the middle of the night!” Pendelton croaked, his voice thick with sleep and panic.

“Arthur Pendelton?” Vance asked, flashing his detective shield through the opening. “I’m Detective Daniel Vance, Fairbanks Police Department. We need to talk about Carver Logistics, and specifically, the financial audits you’ve been signing off on.”

Pendelton’s face drained of color. He tried to close the door, but Vance placed his palm flat against the wood, stopping it instantly.

“I have nothing to say to the police. I want my lawyer,” Pendelton stammered.

“You can call any lawyer you want, Arthur,” a voice called out from the dark driveway.

I pushed open the rear door of the sedan, wheeling myself out into the slush until I rolled into the ambient glow of the porch light. Pendelton stared down at me, his eyes widening in absolute shock.

“Fallon... is that you? Good lord, I heard about your accident...”

“I didn't have an accident, Arthur,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through the cold night air like a scalpel. “My father threw me out of a second-story window because I ruined his dinner party. And while his legal team has been busy trying to paint me as mentally unstable, I’ve been busy auditing his company.”

I reached into my canvas tote bag, pulled out the three leather-bound ledgers, and held them up so he could see the gold-embossed lettering on the spines.

Pendelton’s breath hitched. He knew those ledgers better than anyone. They were Alaric’s private record books—the ones he kept hidden away from the corporate accountants and federal tax auditors.

“How... how did you get those?” Pendelton whispered, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

“Let’s just say I was doing some spring cleaning a little early,” I said coldly. “Recognize the handwriting, Arthur? That’s Alaric’s signature on every single page detailing the illegal bridge loans, the falsified inventory reports, and the municipal bribes.”

Pendelton unlatched the chain, pulling the door wide open. He stood in the entryway of his home, looking like a man staring at an executioner's axe.

“If Martin Thorne’s audit team sees those ledgers before the contract is signed next week,” Pendelton murmured, staring blankly at the floor, “Alaric is finished. And... and so am I.”

“Not necessarily,” Vance stepped forward, his tone turning pragmatic and business-like. “Federal prosecutors are currently preparing an indictment against Alaric Carver for wire fraud, forgery, and attempted murder. We are looking for cooperating witnesses, Arthur. Someone who can step forward and explain how the books were cooked under direct duress from Alaric.”

Pendelton looked up, tears welling in his eyes. “You don't understand. Alaric is a ruthless man. If I testify against him, he’ll destroy my family, take my pension, and leave me with nothing.”

“If you don't testify against him, Arthur, you’re going to spend the next five to ten years in a federal penitentiary taking the fall for a man who wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire,” I countered sharply. “Alaric has already prepared your name as the sole scapegoat for the financial discrepancies. The moment federal investigators seize the corporate servers, Alaric’s lawyers are going to hand them your signature and walk away clean.”

Pendelton staggered backward, gripping the edge of his living room doorframe. The realization hit him like a physical blow. Alaric Carver was loyal to no one—not his employees, not his business partners, and certainly not his family.

“What... what do you need me to do?” Pendelton whispered, his voice cracking.

“You’re going to call Martin Thorne’s executive audit team first thing in the morning,” Detective Vance instructed smoothly. “You’re going to request an emergency compliance review, hand over the digital ledger backups you secretly kept on your home hard drive, and provide a full sworn statement to the U.S. Attorney’s office.”