“You gave me a role in your performance, Charles. A very carefully scripted one.” Sebastian’s voice was quiet, almost gentle. “The dissolute heir, the tabloid fodder, the useful idiot who’d sign whatever you put in front of him. You spent so long carefully spreading that lie, that you forgot it wasn’t really who I am.”
“You’ve destroyed everything we built.”
“No, Charles.” Sebastian’s composure never wavered. “I’ve revealed what you built. What you built alone, while trying to use me as your accomplice. There’s a difference. Though I suppose when you’ve spent so long believing your own lies that it is difficult to remember the truth.”
Detective Inspector Mills appeared at the doorway of Interview Room 2. “Lord Hawthorne? We’re ready for you now.”
Charles rose slowly, his joints protesting. Age, stress, and sleepless nights had taken their toll. Sebastian remained seated, watching with those calculating eyes that Charles now realized had been cataloging his sins for years.
“One last thing,” Sebastian said, his voice barely audible. “That emergency contingency fund you set up in Switzerland? The one you thought was so clever, buried under three shell companies and a trust you never told me about?”
Charles’s blood turned to ice water.
“I found it six months ago. Amazing what one can discover with determination and enough patience. I gave them those records yesterday.” Sebastian’s smile was serene, almost loving. “All twenty-three million pounds of it. Consider it my final gift to the investigation.”
The room seemed to tilt. That account was Charles’s last desperate hope—money he’d squirreled away over two decades, invisible to auditors, known only to himself and a banker in Zurich who understood the value of discretion. It was his escape hatch, his golden parachute, his guarantee that whatever happened, he would never truly be powerless.
Had been his guarantee.
“How?” The word escaped as barely a whisper.
Sebastian leaned forward slightly, and for a moment his mask slipped. Beneath the perfect composure, Charles glimpsed something cold and patient and utterly without mercy. “You taught me to always have a backup plan, an exit strategy. You simply never considered I might find yours.”
He stood gracefully, brushing an invisible speck from his lapel. “The investigator’s waiting. You shouldn’t keep her waiting—punctuality wasalways one of your virtues.”
As Charles walked toward the interview room on unsteady legs, he heard Sebastian’s voice behind him, pitched to carry just far enough:
“Do give my regards to the press outside. I’m sure they’ll be very interested in your statement.”
The door closed behind Charles with the soft, final sound of a coffin lid settling into place. Through the frosted glass, he could see Sebastian’s silhouette moving away with unhurried confidence, leaving his father to face the consequences of lessons learned too well by the wrong student.
Detective Inspector Mills gestured toward a chair that faced a recording device and a stack of documents that looked suspiciously comprehensive.
“Shall we begin, Lord Hawthorne?”
Charles sat down heavily, his hands folded in his lap to hide their trembling. In the corner of his vision, he could see Sebastian through the waiting room window, signing papers with his solicitor, every inch the cooperative witness.
The student had not just surpassed the teacher.
He had made the teacher irrelevant.
Earlier that same morning
“For the record, this is Detective Inspector Sarah Mills interviewing Mr. Sebastian Philippe Rousseau on the morning of October 15th. Also present is Ms. Jennifer Crawford, representing Mr. Rousseau.” The recording device hummed quietly between them.
Mills glanced at her file. “Just to confirm for the record—Mr. Rousseau, you were previously known as Sebastian Philippe Hawthorne, Viscount Edgecliffe, legal heir to Lord Charles Edward Hawthorne, the Earl of Avondale?”
“Correct,” Sebastian said. “I legally changed my name after it was revealed that Charles Hawthorne is not my biological father.”
Sebastian sat upright in his chair, hands folded on the metal table. His solicitor had briefed him thoroughly: cooperate fully, appear composed, and most importantly—establish the timeline with clarity and integrity.
Mills began. “Mr. Rousseau, you’ve been granted conditional immunity in exchange for your cooperation in this investigation. I want to confirm you understand the terms of that arrangement.”
“I do,” Sebastian said. “Full disclosure of all relevant information regarding the Hawthorne Foundation’s operations, including financial irregularities I uncovered, in exchange for immunity from prosecution relating to actions taken under Charles Hawthorne’s direction—or misdirection.”
Mills nodded. “Let’s begin with the timeline. You signed authorization documents for multiple high-value transfers, including the Cayman Islands accounts. When did you first realize those transactions might be fraudulent?”
“At the time I signed them, I didn’t view them as significant,” Sebastian said. “They were presented as routine legal instruments—succession protocols, essentially. My role at the Foundation was mostly political. Charles had me handling donors, messaging, appearances. I didn’t have access to the financial side, and I didn’t ask too many questions. That was a failure on my part.”