Chapter 59 – Back to the Beginning
May 18, 2011 – 6:27 AM – Logan Moore's Apartment, Manhattan
The morning was still quiet when the phone rang. The sound was discreet but sharp—rare, coming from a line Logan rarely used. It was early. And he knew that calls at this time rarely brought good news.
He answered immediately.
"Logan Moore."
"Logan… it's Thomas."
Logan's heart sank. The voice on the other end was the same one he had known for over 15 years—but now it was shaky, hesitant, heavy.
"Thomas? What's wrong?"
Silence for a second.
"I need your help. It's… it's serious."
Logan was already getting up from the couch, where he was reading his daily reports.
"I can hear you. What happened?"
"It's my father. George. He was arrested this morning. They allege fraud in contracts with a foundation linked to the State. I swear, Logan, I read the papers… it doesn't make sense. It's not him. This is wrong."
Logan took a deep breath, already grabbing a pad and pen.
— Where is he?
— In custody, Albany District Police Station. Margaret is in shock. I… I never thought I'd have to call you like this.
Logan answered firmly.
— You did the right thing. Give me two hours. I'll meet you there.
— Logan…
— Thomas, listen. You and your parents took me in when I had nowhere to spend the summer, we shared a room, grades, defeats and hopes. Now it's my turn.
08:54 – Albany, NY – District Police Station
Logan arrived in his black SUV, formally dressed without a tie, determined eyes. Thomas was waiting for him on the sidewalk, hair disheveled, his jacket wrinkled from the despair of a sleepless night.
— Logan… — he said, walking towards his friend.
Logan hugged him without ceremony. A firm gesture, as if he knew this was no time for empty words.
— I've already spoken to a judge who is a friend of the family about the warrant. And I've requested access to the arrest report. Where is Margaret?
— At home. With a neighbor. She's... devastated. George has never even had a traffic ticket, Logan.
— Let's take it one step at a time. Take me to the custody officer.
09:17 – Custody Room
George was sitting, hands folded on the table. His expression was tired but dignified. He was still wearing the plaid shirt from the night before, now wrinkled. When he saw Logan, his eyes filled with contained emotion.
— Logan…
— George — Logan said, squeezing his hand tightly. — I've already got the case. Don't say anything else to anyone but me. Everything you say now will be used. Got it?
George nodded.
— They say a state veterans foundation funneled money to an NGO registered in my name. But… I didn't even know it existed. I never received anything.
Logan frowned.
— This is laundering. They're using your name as a front. Someone put you in the middle to hide the real trail.
Thomas, standing nearby, listened attentively.
— Is this really serious?
— Very serious — Logan replied. — But we'll figure it out. I'll take care of this personally.
11:08 AM – Pearson Hardman, by phone
Logan called Jessica directly.
— I need to step away from the office for a few days. A friend Thomas and his family are at the center of a state fraud charge. I need to deal with this.
Jessica didn't hesitate.
— Go. Thomas is your lifelong brother. Take care of him.
— Thank you.
— Do you want someone from the team?
— Not for now. But you might need Rachel later.
1:30 p.m. – Albany District Court
Logan filed a writ of habeas corpus and filed a petition for access to the bank transactions linked to the NGO on George's behalf. Precise legal steps. Calculated. One by one.
4:45 p.m. – Thomas and Margaret's house
Margaret was in the living room, hugging a pillow. Her eyes were red, her voice low.
"Logan…" she said, standing up when she saw him. "You came…"
He hugged her affectionately.
"Of course I came. George will get through this. And I'll make sure of that."
"It's good to see you. You're still family."
6:05 p.m. – Local state records office
Logan requested all the incorporation documents for the NGO involved. George's name appeared as "Honorary President" — with a digital signature.
But something caught his attention.
— Thomas — Logan said, pointing — look at this. The NGO's CNPJ was created six months ago. But the records of your father's name being used are older. Someone used your father's old data maybe from a military form and set up a front organization based on it.
— So it really was fraud…
— Yes. And I can prove it. But I need the records from the bank that processed the transfers.
— That could take days!
— Not if I file an urgent federal request.
8:00 p.m. – Logan on the phone with Rachel
— Rachel, it's Logan. I need you to find precedents in court decisions where money laundering was done using retired military personnel's data. Cases of front men, identity manipulation… everything.
— I'm on it. When do you need it by?
— Tomorrow, without fail. And ask Donna to contact a friend of mine at the IRS.
Next Day – 11:14 a.m. – Hearing Office
The judge, a serious man with gray hair, read the documents brought by Logan.
— Dr. Moore, are you alleging that your client is the victim of ideological falsehood and misuse of identity?
— Yes, your honor. And we already have proof that the signature used is a digital copy and comes from old army documents. George did not know about the existence of the NGO. Much less did he move any funds.
— And why was he implicated?
— Because he is clean. He has never committed any crime. An ideal target for someone to create a facade of reliability.
The judge analyzed the papers for a moment.
— Habeas corpus granted. The accused must respond in freedom while the facts are investigated.
Thomas grabbed Logan's arm. His eyes were watering.
— Man... I don't even know what to say.
— Don't say anything. It's not over yet. It's only just begun.
Two days later – 6:32 p.m. – Logan, back in New York
Rachel walked into Logan's office with a printed report.
"Here are the NGO's links to shell companies. One of them has a partner convicted of fraud in 2009."
Logan took the documents, read them carefully, and smiled for the first time in days.
"Rachel… this is gold."
She smiled back.
"You deserve it. I just followed the path."
"You followed it like a real lawyer. Congratulations."
Chapter 60 – Justice in the Name
May 24, 2011 — Albany State Courthouse — 8:12 AM
The sky was clear that morning, but the air was thick. The state courthouse seemed busier than usual, with local journalists discreetly positioned outside, capturing images of the arrival of Logan Moore, now a household name in the American legal scene.
Dressed in a light gray linen suit and dark blue tie, Logan walked firmly beside George, his client and much more than that: a father figure, a moral reference, and the man who gave him shelter when he needed it most.
In front, Thomas, with slightly teary eyes, held the hand of his mother, Margaret, who tried to maintain her composure even under the emotional weight of the moment.
"Are you sure you want to face them alone?" George asked, already inside the building.
"I am," Logan replied. "But I'm not alone. You taught me what integrity is. Now I'm going to return it in the form of defense.
George touched Logan's shoulder, his eyes steady.
"I trust you. I always have."
Logan nodded with a slight smile and walked into the courtroom.
8:45 AM - State Courtroom 3B
The courtroom was smaller than most Logan was used to. The tall windows let in bright, honest light. Judge Robert Lansing, a man in his early sixties known for his toughness and sense of justice, was already in his seat.
State prosecutor Martin Devereux, a seasoned lawyer with a reputation for never losing, sat on the left side, his briefcase stuffed with documents. Beside him, two civilian investigators watched Logan with a certain silent contempt—typical of someone who already underestimated him.
Logan straightened his gear. In his briefcase: evidence, records, case law, and Rachel's investigative report cross-referencing bank transactions, business connections, and inconsistencies in the constitution of the nonprofit used for the scheme.
"Let us begin," Judge Lansing announced. "Case number 214-A. State of New York v. George A. Whitaker."
Logan stood.
"Your Honor, Logan Moore, defense attorney."
"Prosecutor Devereux, for the State," the other replied.
"Let us proceed with the opening statements."
The prosecutor stood, walking slowly to the center.
"Your Honor, the prosecution alleges that Mr. George Whitaker was an active player in the creation of a nonprofit organization used to launder public money. We have records of over $230,000 in state funds that were allegedly funneled into accounts of a nonprofit where the defendant's name appears as president."
He paused, looking at the jury.
"His name appears on the contracts." The money is missing. The account is under your name. And as the law says, responsibility follows signature.
He returned to his seat.
Lansing nodded to Logan.
"Mr. Moore?"
Logan stood up naturally. His presence filled the room with a quiet but firm authority.
"Your Honor, gentlemen of the jury, what the prosecution has presented here is a convenient story. But it is not the truth. Mr. Whitaker is a retired veteran, a public servant for 32 years, with a clean record. What we have here is a scheme of false identity, in which he was used as a front for a gang specialized in defrauding public funds."
He paused, then continued.
"And today, we will prove it."
09:25 – Defense Testimony: George
George took the witness stand with his head held high.
"Do you acknowledge that you signed the charter of this NGO?"
— No, sir. I was never informed of the existence of this NGO until my arrest.
— Have you ever had a bank account with transactions of over 200 thousand dollars in the name of third parties?
— Never. I barely know how to use internet banking. I still keep paper in the file cabinet at home.
— And where were you on the date the account was opened?
— At home. I have medical receipts from that day. I was undergoing physical therapy treatment.
Logan handed the receipts to the judge.
10:05 – Documentary evidence
Logan walked over to the projector screen and connected his laptop. A timeline appeared with overlapping documents. He spoke as he scrolled through the slides.
— Here is the NGO's constitution. Signature: George A. Whitaker. Now, look at this form from 1997, filled out during his military retirement. Same signature, same date of birth. And… same digital file. Look at the bottom left corner.
He zoomed in.
— An overlay in the background indicates that the signature was extracted and pasted onto current documents.
The prosecutor shifted, visibly uncomfortable.
Logan didn't stop.
— More. The financial transactions came from a company called "Harrison Consulting Group," based in Delaware. Partner: Carla Renwick, convicted of fraud in 2009.
He clicked to the next slide.
— She's a partner in the "ClearPath Foundation," where some of the funds were transferred. And the partner-in-law administrative of this company?
He clicked again.
— Martin Devereux Jr. — son of the prosecutor in this case.
A sharp silence fell over the room.
Devereux stood up immediately.
— Objection! Attempt to embarrass the prosecution!
— Sustained or not, the facts are here, Your Honor — Logan said. — Documents, bank records, Social Security number involved. I did not insinuate. I showed.
Judge Lansing frowned and looked at Devereux.
— Mr. Prosecutor, the court will take note to investigate conflict of interest. For now, point out your next argument.
11:30 AM – Closing
Logan walked to the center of the room one last time.
— Gentlemen of the jury, each of you knows someone like George Whitaker. Someone who lived with dignity, who trusted the institutions, who believed that living right was enough to be safe. And today, he is here, wrongly accused, because someone saw in his clear name the perfect opportunity.
He looked at George, then at the jurors.
"Justice is not a pretty word. Justice is action. And today, it is up to you to restore not only the name of a man, but the trust of all who once believed that good is worthwhile."
1:17 p.m. – Verdict
The jury returned quickly.
"Regarding the charge of fraud and money laundering, the jury finds the defendant… not guilty."
Margaret cried. Thomas held his eyes to keep from collapsing. George stood up with difficulty, and Logan hugged him tightly.
"Thank you, son. You saved us." Logan just nodded, moved, holding everything back with the self-control he always had but feeling each word like a hug back in time, like that summer when Thomas and his parents gave him shelter, food and love.
3:40 p.m. – Albany, in the garden of George and Margaret's house
Everyone was gathered. Thomas, Margaret, George, Logan and even some neighbors. The sun shone like a belated sign of justice.
Margaret served tea as she said:
"I still think you should have gone into politics."
"I did, in a way," Logan replied, smiling. "But in the courts."
George looked at him, serious.
"You've done more for the integrity of this country than many politicians have in decades."
Thomas hugged him sideways.
"And you still share a pizza like in the old days?"
"Of course," Logan said. "But only if it's the pepperoni kind you always ordered."
Laughter. Relief. And something bigger: belonging.
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