Several guests were watching them.
Evan stepped closer.
"My private suite upstairs is empty. We can talk there."
Naomi hesitated.
Only hours earlier, Evan had invited her here to humiliate her.
Now he was offering help.
She didn't trust him.
But she needed answers.
"Fine."
Ten minutes later, Naomi, Arthur, and Evan sat inside a private lounge on the hotel's thirty-eighth floor.
Arthur removed his glasses.
"Your father called me because he was worried about you."
Naomi swallowed.
"He knew what happened at Halston?"
"He knew more than you realized."
Arthur explained that Marcus had contacted him shortly after Naomi was suspended from Halston Capital.
Marcus believed his daughter had been framed.
That part didn't surprise Naomi.
What surprised her was how far he had gone to prove it.
"He started investigating on his own," Arthur continued.
"My father repaired elevators."
"He did. And one of his maintenance contracts happened to cover two commercial buildings used by companies connected to Halston."
Naomi stared at him.
Arthur continued.
"Marcus noticed names you had mentioned appearing repeatedly on maintenance access records. He started comparing those names with companies involved in the transactions you were accused of approving."
Naomi felt cold.
"And?"
"Several shell companies shared executives, addresses, and financial advisers."
Evan leaned forward.
"That's consistent with what our forensic team found."
Naomi turned sharply toward him.
"How much did your company know?"
"Not enough," Evan replied. "The review happened during an acquisition. We were investigating liabilities connected to a Halston subsidiary. Your case appeared in the records."
"And nobody contacted me?"
Evan's silence answered before he did.
"No."
Naomi stood.
She walked toward the window.
Chicago stretched beneath her, thousands of lights glittering across the darkness.
Six years.
Six years cleaning offices, counting grocery money, choosing which bills could wait.
Somewhere, documents existed that might have cleared her name.
And no one had thought the woman whose life had been destroyed deserved to know.
"I'm sorry," Evan said.
Naomi turned.
"Stop apologizing."
He looked surprised.
"Apologies are easy for people who don't have to live with the consequences."
Evan said nothing.
Arthur quietly opened his briefcase.
"There is something else."
He removed an old envelope.
Naomi recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her father's.
Her knees nearly weakened.
On the front were four words.
For Naomi, if necessary.
She touched the envelope but couldn't open it.
"You've had this?"
Arthur nodded.
"Your father asked me to keep it until he could verify everything. After his death, I tried reaching you. Your phone number changed. Your address changed. Eventually, I lost contact."
Naomi finally opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter.
Naomi,
If you're reading this, then I probably didn't get the chance to tell you myself.
You were right.
Whatever happens, don't let them convince you otherwise.
I've found records connecting the transfers to people above you. I don't understand all the financial language, but I understand dates, access logs, and signatures.
And I know my daughter's signature.
The one they showed me isn't yours.
Naomi stopped reading.
Tears blurred the page.
Her father had believed her.
Not emotionally.
Not because she was his daughter.
He had found proof.
At the bottom of the letter was a handwritten sequence of numbers.
Evan looked at it.
"What's that?"
Naomi shook her head.
Then she suddenly remembered.
Her father had kept a small safe-deposit box after her grandmother died.
A box Naomi had forgotten existed.
"I think I know."
Arthur leaned forward.
"Know what?"
Naomi folded the letter carefully.
"Where he put the evidence."
Across town, Richard Halston sat in the back of a black sedan.
His phone was pressed tightly against his ear.
"She knows something," he said.
A voice responded from the other end.
Richard looked through the tinted window.
"Find out what Marcus Brooks left behind."
He paused.
"And do it before Naomi does."
Naomi barely slept.
At seven the next morning, she was already dressed.
Isaiah walked into the kitchen and found her drinking coffee while staring at their father's letter.
"How was the fancy party?"
Naomi looked up.
"You might want to sit down."
Twenty minutes later, Isaiah wasn't smiling anymore.
"He knew?"
Naomi nodded.
"Dad knew everything?"
"Maybe not everything. But enough."
Lorraine had listened quietly from the doorway.
When Naomi mentioned the safe-deposit box, her mother closed her eyes.
"I remember."
Naomi turned.
"You knew about it?"
"Your father kept some of your grandmother's papers there."
"Which bank?"
Lorraine gave her the name.
By nine thirty, Naomi and Isaiah were standing inside an old bank branch on South Michigan Avenue.
The manager checked Naomi's identification.
"Box 317."
Naomi's heart pounded.
The manager led them into a private room and placed the long metal box on the table.
Naomi inserted the key Lorraine had found inside Marcus's old desk.
Click.
The lid opened.
At first, the contents seemed ordinary.
Her grandmother's birth certificate.
Insurance documents.
Several photographs.
A watch.
Then Isaiah noticed a brown envelope beneath everything else.
"Naomi."
She pulled it out.
Inside were photocopies of building-access records, handwritten notes, bank statements, and a small USB drive.
Naomi stared at it.
Her father had actually done it.
He had collected evidence.
Isaiah picked up one of the papers.
"I don't understand any of this."
Naomi did.
Her old instincts returned almost instantly.
She spread the records across the table.
Halston Capital had claimed Naomi approved transfers into four consulting companies.
But Marcus had found something important.
On three nights when Naomi's credentials supposedly authorized transfers, building records showed that senior executive Daniel Voss had entered Halston's secure financial floor after midnight.
Daniel Voss had been Richard Halston's closest lieutenant.
More importantly, Naomi hadn't been in Chicago on one of those nights.