The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me-Chapter 249: Numbers Don’t Lie

Work moved smoothly enough that day. Too smoothly, considering what was sitting in my briefcase.

I called Val on my way out of Gray & Milton. The phone only rang once before she picked up.

"Hey," she said.

"I'm going to be late," I told her. "Still at work. Something came up."

There was a pause on the line, just long enough for me to know she was thinking. "Okay," she said finally. "Don't overdo it."

"I won't."

Not entirely a lie. Also not the truth. I'd explain everything later—after I knew what everything actually was.

Earlier that day, I'd already scanned every document with Prometheus Acquisition Index stamped anywhere on it and sent the files over to Trent. If there was anyone who could see through financial investment related smoke screens faster than me, it was him.

By the time I pulled into his driveway, the sky had already started dimming.

I didn't even get a chance to knock properly.

The door swung open almost immediately.

"Come look at this," Trent said, already turning back into the house.

I frowned and stepped inside. "What? You already found something?"

I dropped the briefcase Charlie had sent earlier near the dining table. Papers were everywhere—spread out, layered over one another, some stacked neatly, others clearly abandoned mid-thought. The scans I'd sent earlier were printed and marked up with pen, highlighter, sticky notes.

It looked like a war table.

"How long have you been at it?" I asked.

Trent was already shuffling through a pile, eyes scanning fast. "A few hours."

I blinked. "Right."

He finally found what he was looking for and slid a single sheet toward me. "Here. Look at this."

I leaned in, eyes narrowing as I scanned the document. It was a transaction summary—clean, minimal, formatted the way large investment firms preferred.

My gaze paused.

"FreeGain Investment Enterprise?" I read aloud.

"Exactly," Trent said. "That's the name that caught my attention too."

I straightened. "They transferred funds to Vanguard Ark Investments?"

"Multiple times," he replied. "Small amounts. Structured. Nothing that would raise flags on its own." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

I exhaled slowly. "Classic."

"Yep," Trent said. "If you were laundering funds or funneling illegal capital, that's how you'd do it. No single transfer big enough to trigger regulatory alarms."

I tapped the paper. "But this alone doesn't prove anything."

"I know," he said calmly. "That's why I kept digging."

He pulled another sheet from the pile and placed it next to the first. "Same sender. Different dates. Different amounts. Always just under reporting thresholds."

I scanned the dates. My jaw tightened. "These transfers line up with the periods when Otavio was acquiring shares."

Trent frowned slightly. "They do?"

"Yeah," I said, tapping the paper. "I remember seeing these exact dates while going through the files Charlie sent earlier today. Same windows. Same timing."

A slow grin spread across his face. "Bingo."

I leaned back slightly. "So FreeGain acts as a feeder."

"Or a shell," Trent corrected. "Or both."

"Did you look them up?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

A slow smile crossed his face. "Of course I did."

"And?"

} "There is no FreeGain Investment Enterprise."

I looked up sharply. "None?"

"None," he repeated. "No registration records. No corporate filings. No tax footprint. Nothing domestic, nothing international. It's like the name only exists on paper—and in these transactions."

I let out a breath through my nose. "That's not sloppy. That's deliberate."

"Exactly," Trent said. "Someone created it purely to move money."

I picked up another document. "Then Vanguard Ark Investments receives the funds, cleans them through legitimate-looking acquisitions—like buying shares in a massive corporation."

"Like Moreau Dynamics," Trent said.

I nodded slowly. "Which makes Otavio either reckless or confident."

"Or protected," Trent added.

I glanced at him. "Explain."

Trent leaned against the table. "You don't pull something like this unless you're sure no one's looking. Or that even if they are, they can't touch you."

I looked back at the papers. "Charlie suspected illegal acquisition."

"And you confirmed it," Trent said. "At least in theory."

"In theory," I echoed. "We still need proof."

"That's where this comes in," Trent said, pulling yet another document forward.

I scanned it quickly, then frowned. "This is an authorization sheet."

"From FreeGain," he said. "Look at the signature."

My eyes dropped to the bottom of the page.

Engr. Julio Santos.

I went still.

"Engr—" I repeated. "Engineer?"

"That's what caught my attention," Trent said. "Not CEO. Not CFO. Engineer."

I frowned. "That's… unusual."

"Very," he agreed. "So I ran the name too."

"And?" I asked.

"There are Julio Santos listed," Trent said. "But none associated with any investment firm. A few engineers. Infrastructure. Energy. Consultancy."

I looked up. "Any connections?"

"One," Trent said, tapping his tablet and turning it toward me.

On the screen was a company profile.

"Subcontracted engineering firm," Trent continued, scrolling. "Listed under several large-scale public infrastructure projects."

I leaned closer. "Government?"

"Urban Development Council," he said. "Multiple projects, spread across different states. Most of them wrapped up about five years ago."

My stomach tightened. "That tracks."

Trent glanced up. "Tracks how?"

"Those projects had massive budgets," I said slowly. "Enough layers of approvals, enough middlemen. Money could disappear without anyone noticing—especially if it was moved in pieces."

He nodded. "Exactly. And here's the interesting part." He tapped the screen. "FreeGain shows up as a secondary consultant on paper. Not a lead contractor. Not visible enough to draw attention."

"But visible enough to touch the money," I said.

"Right." Trent exhaled. "If funds were siphoned off back then and parked quietly, they'd look clean now. Old money. No immediate trail."

I stared at the name again.

FreeGain Investment Enterprise.

A company that didn't exist—except where it mattered.

"And the signature?" I asked.

Trent pulled up another document. "Same name every time. Engr. Julio Santos."

I nodded slowly. "So whoever he is, he didn't just appear recently."

"No," Trent said. "He's been in the system long before Otavio started buying shares."

I rubbed my jaw. "If we trace his identity, we trace the shell."

"And if we trace the shell," Trent said, "we trace Otavio."

I looked around the table again. "Charlie was right. Otavio didn't just buy Lucien's shares."

"No," Trent said. "He engineered the entire acquisition."

Silence settled between us.

Finally, I spoke. "Next step—we verify the signature. Independently."

Trent nodded. "Already on it."

I glanced at him. "Of course you are."

He smirked faintly. "What? You thought I'd stop here?"

I almost smiled—but only almost.

Because this wasn't just about exposing Benjamin Otavio anymore.

This was about proving that someone had built an entire financial ghost just to take control of Moreau Dynamics.

And now that we'd seen the outline of it—

There was no turning back.

---

Trent and I spent the next few hours buried in paperwork and open tabs, moving between printed documents and his laptop like we were mapping out a crime scene. We didn't rush it. We couldn't afford to. Every number had to be checked twice. Every name cross-referenced. Every date lined up against something else.

We split the work naturally.

He handled the digital trail—transaction logs, archived registries, obscure financial databases I didn't even know he had access to. I stayed on the documents Charlie sent, comparing what was officially recorded against what should have been there. It was slow. Tedious. The kind of work that made your eyes ache and your head pound if you weren't careful.

And the more we dug, the clearer the picture became.

FreeGain Investment Enterprise wasn't a mistake. It wasn't a clerical error or a shell thrown together last minute. Someone had taken time building it—layering it behind legitimate projects, spacing transactions out just enough to avoid alarms, keeping amounts small enough to look harmless.

Death by a thousand paper cuts.

"This is deliberate," I muttered at one point, rubbing my temple. "Nobody stumbles into something this clean."

Trent didn't look up. "Yeah. That's the scary part."

By the time we leaned back for the first real break, the sky outside his windows had already darkened.

I finally checked the time.

7:51 p.m.

I exhaled slowly and pushed my chair back. "I've gotta start going home."

Trent glanced at the clock, then smirked. "Right. You're a married man."

I frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, still smiling as he shuffled a few papers into a neater pile. "Means you don't get to disappear into financial conspiracies all night anymore."

I scoffed. "Please. I disappeared... with permission."

That earned me a quiet laugh.

I stood, stretching my arms over my head, then paused and looked at him properly. "By the way—when are you even gonna put a ring on Marina's finger?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Which was my first clue.

} "Next week."

I blinked. "Dude. The longer you take the—" I stopped mid-sentence, the words finally catching up to my brain. "Wait. Next week?"

He grinned now, unmistakably pleased. "I'm proposing, bud. Wish me luck."

For a second, I just stared at him.

Then I broke into a wide smile. "You're serious."

} "Dead serious."

I let out a short laugh and shook my head. "About damn time."

He leaned back against the table, arms crossed. "Do you think she'll say yes?"

I didn't hesitate. "You two have been dating for, what—almost eight years? Nine?"

"Eight and a half," he corrected.

"When you finally get down on one knee," I said, pointing at him, "she'll probably hit you and glare at you for taking forever to propose."

Trent burst out laughing. "She would, wouldn't she?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Then she'll say yes and remind you of it for the rest of your life."

He shook his head, still smiling. "Welcome to the club, huh?"

"Best club I've ever joined," I said honestly.

He sobered just a little, then added softly, "What about Celestia, is she... doing okay?"

"She'll be okay," I said. And I meant it. "And trust me—she'll be so happy for you. Mostly Marina," I added. "But... you get the memo."

Trent laughed again, lighter this time. "Good. I'll need all the luck I can get."

I reached for the briefcase Charlie had sent earlier, snapping it shut. "We'll pick this up tomorrow. Same time?"

"Yeah," he said. "And Kai?"

I looked back.

"We're gonna nail this," he said. "Whoever built this mess—they slipped. We just have to find where."

I nodded once. "We will."

The drive home was quiet.

Too quiet.

The city lights blurred past as my thoughts bounced between everything we'd uncovered and everything still missing. Julio Santos. FreeGain. Otavio. The patience it took to build something like this. The arrogance it took to believe no one would ever connect the dots.

Then my mind drifted to Trent—about to propose. To Marina, who deserved every bit of that happiness.

And finally, inevitably, to Val.

To her father. To Moreau Dynamics. To the fragile line between saving a company and exposing a truth that might tear it apart.

Maybe—just maybe—we were close enough now to do both.

And for the first time since this started, that didn't feel impossible.

---

To be continued...