Page 99 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

Cash payments kept repeating at the same intervals. The same timing, even when the names changed. Only the labels were different.

I frowned. “What is this?”

Sean leaned slightly forward. “Father Michael’s financial activity.”

I looked at him. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he said.

I kept reading. It no longer looked random. It looked maintained, like someone had kept Father Michael’s activity running in a controlled way.

I turned another page. Another transfer. Same spacing. Same structure.

My fingers pressed harder on the paper. “There were too many of these,” I said.

Sean didn’t answer. He only watched me.

I kept going through line after line, account after account in Father Michael’s file. Then I saw a name. Not the sender. The receiver.

My father’s name. I stopped. I read it once, then over and over again. “No,” I said quietly.

Sean looked from the page to me. I pushed the file slightly toward him. “This can’t be right,” I said.

He didn’t correct me, and that made it worse.

I went back through older records. The same pattern appeared again and again in Father Michael’s file. The same transfers, repeated over years. My throat tightened.

“So this money went to my father?” I asked Sean.

He didn’t move. “Yes.”

I stared at the page longer than I should have. My mind tried to find another explanation, something simpler, something easier. There wasn’t one. I let out a slow breath that didn’t feel steady.

“So my father was being paid by Father Michael,” I said.

Sean nodded once. “Consistently.”

I pushed the file away without meaning to. Distance didn’t change anything.

I looked at everything on the table again. It all felt different now. Father Michael, my father, the records, the gaps.Everything started to connect in a way that made my stomach turn.

“This is still going on,” I said.

“Yes,” Sean replied. Silence settled again, but it wasn’t calm. It was heavy.

I looked down at the table. All of it, all those years, all that time, all that money my father gambled away. Then I said it before I could stop myself. “Father Michael and my father were connected the whole time.”

Sean didn’t argue.

Father Michael and my father were connected the whole time.It no longer felt like new information. It felt like something I’d been standing close to for a long time.

Sean turned another page. “This was earlier,” he said.

I leaned forward again. This file looked older than the others, less organized, like it was never meant to be opened after this long.

It contained names, routes, and movement logs. At first it looked like meaningless numbers. Then I saw the structure underneath it. It was weapons transfers.

My eyes slowed as I followed the numbers. “What is this?” I asked.