“You buried them,” Avery said, her voice ringing with crystalline clarity. “But you forgot that I designed the encryption architecture for Whitmore Medical Systems before we were married. I didn't need to break in, Grant. I built the back door.”
Brooke looked wildly between Grant and Avery. “Grant? Grant, what is she talking about? You said she was just a stay-at-home wife! You said she had nothing!”
“Agent Miller,” Thomas said, not breaking eye contact with his son-in-law.
One of the men in dark suits stepped forward, producing his badge. “Grant Whitmore, you are under arrest for federal fraud, money laundering, and conspiracy. Put your hands behind your back.”
“You can’t do this!” Grant shouted, his veneer of control shattering entirely. He backed into the wall, hitting the gold plaque that bore his family’s name. “I own this city! I own this hospital! Thomas, you vindictive old bastard, you’re framing me because your daughter couldn't keep her husband interested!”