Chapter 3 - My Father's Locked Drawer
“Where did Gavin get that?”
Samuel stared at the photograph.
I enlarged it.
There was no question.
The briefcase had belonged to my father.
Black leather.
Brass locks.
A thin scratch near the handle from the time I had dropped it down our front steps when I was twelve.
I had not seen it since Dad died.
“I thought it was lost.”
Samuel looked grim.
“It wasn't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Henry gave it to me two weeks before he died.”
The room became very quiet.
“And?”
“Someone broke into my storage facility after the funeral.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn't know what was taken until months later.”
I stared at him.
“And you suspected Gavin?”
“I suspected several people.”
“That's attorney language.”
“Yes.”
“Did you suspect my husband?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt.
Not because I still wanted Gavin to be innocent.
Because apparently everyone had been given a chance to doubt my marriage except me.
I stood.
“I’m going to Sophie's apartment.”
Samuel stepped between me and the door.
“No.”
“Move.”
“Victoria, if Gavin has that briefcase, you don't know what he believes is inside.”
“I know what he believes isn't inside.”
“The folder.”
“Exactly.”
Samuel shook his head.
“That makes you dangerous to him.”
I looked at him.
“Gavin isn't violent.”
“You didn't think Gavin was unfaithful yesterday.”
That stopped me.
Samuel wasn't accusing Gavin of anything.
He was reminding me how little certainty I had left.
I sat down again.
“What was in the briefcase?”
“Your father's original share certificates.”
My heart kicked.
“For Caldwell Legacy Partners?”
“Yes.”
“And if Gavin has them?”
“They're evidence. Not ownership.”
“So he can't take the company with them.”
“No.”
“Then why steal them?”
Samuel's expression changed.
“Because one certificate contained Henry's handwritten conversion authorization.”
I felt cold.
“Meaning?”
“If the triggering conditions were proven, Henry had already authorized the trust to convert its interest.”
“To what percentage?”
Samuel didn't blink.
“Fifty-one.”
The number from the folder.
I finally understood.
Gavin hadn't built his empire entirely by himself.
My father had financed the foundation.
Then protected that investment with a contractual right capable of taking control away from Gavin if Gavin abused the company.
And I had inherited that right.
“Does Gavin know?”
“He knows the clause exists.”
“Does he know I'm the beneficiary?”
“I don't think so.”
“Why not?”
“Your father used layered entities deliberately.”
I stared out the window.
Charlotte moved beneath us.
Cars.
People.
Normal lives.
Yesterday my biggest problem had been discovering my husband with another woman.
Today I might own the mechanism capable of taking his company away.
“Call Maya,” I said.
The forensic accountant arrived forty minutes later.
Maya Collins was forty-three, direct, composed, and apparently unimpressed by wealthy men.
She opened her laptop.
“I found the necklace.”
That was her greeting.
Samuel blinked.
“That quickly?”
“Rich people are terrible at hiding purchases when they want reward points.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Maya turned the screen.
The necklace had been purchased eight weeks earlier.
Not by Gavin.
Not directly.
By a company called Meridian Client Services LLC.
Meridian had received funds three days earlier from a Prescott Strategic Holdings marketing account.
“How much?” I asked.
“One hundred twelve thousand eight hundred after taxes and insurance.”
“And Meridian?”
“Shell company.”
“Owned by?”
She clicked.
“Sophie Mercer.”
My stomach dropped.
Samuel leaned closer.
“Sophie owns it?”
“On paper.”
“Where does the money go?”
“That's the interesting part.”
Maya displayed a series of transfers.
Prescott paid Meridian.
Meridian paid other entities.
Those entities purchased property, vehicles, jewelry, and securities.
Over six years, millions had passed through them.
“Twenty-two million?” I asked.
Maya looked at me.
“Your father underestimated.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-eight million that I can identify.”
Samuel swore under his breath.
I stared at the screen.
“Why?”
Maya turned toward me.
“That's what we need to determine.”
My phone vibrated.
Sophie again.
This time a text.
I got away. Don't go home.
Then:
He knows you opened the drawer.
My blood went cold.
I typed:
How?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
There was a sensor in the lock.
I looked at Samuel.
“My father put an alert on the drawer.”
“Yes.”
“What if Gavin did too?”
Samuel's expression answered before he spoke.
“He could have.”
Another message arrived.
He said Henry left Victoria something. He thinks you found it.
Then:
He wants the folder before midnight.
Maya closed her laptop.
“We should contact federal investigators.”
“Not yet,” Samuel said.
I turned on him.
“Why?”
“Because if we move too early, Gavin can claim legitimate business purposes for several transfers.”
“Thirty-eight million dollars?”
“He has lawyers.”
Maya nodded reluctantly.
“He's right. We need the destination.”
“The destination?”
“Where the money ultimately accumulated.”
I remembered Sophie's words.
That's why he's been moving the money.
“Can we find it?”
Maya looked at me.
“With access to Prescott's internal accounting system.”
I laughed once.
“I don't work there.”
Samuel did not laugh.
“But you may own fifty-one percent.”
“Not yet.”
“No.”
He pushed a document toward me.
“But you can.”
The conversion notice required proof of a triggering violation.
The necklace transaction might provide it.
But Maya wanted stronger evidence.
I thought of thirty employees.
The video call.
Finance executives had been there.
Someone might know something.
“Who was on that call?” Maya asked.
“I can name maybe twenty.”
“Get all thirty.”
“How?”
I looked at my phone.
Then remembered something.
Gavin had sent the meeting invitation to our shared household printer that morning because his office printer was down.
I had thrown the page into the recycling bin.
I called our housekeeper.
“Rosa, I need you to do something strange.”
She laughed nervously.
“After fourteen years, Mrs. Prescott, strange is relative.”
“Don't let Gavin know you spoke to me. Go to the recycling beside the upstairs printer. There should be a meeting agenda.”
Five minutes later, she sent me a photograph.
Thirty names.
Maya studied them.
Her finger stopped.
“Who is this?”
Nathan Cole — Senior Director, Internal Audit.
“I've met him.”
“Trust him?”
“I don't know.”
“Good,” Maya said. “People are safer when we don't assume.”
I called Nathan.
He answered after four rings.
“Mrs. Prescott.”
“You saw what happened yesterday.”
A painful pause.
“Yes.”
“I need to ask you something unrelated to what you saw.”
“All right.”
“Have you noticed unusual payments involving Meridian Client Services?”
Silence.
Then:
“Where did you hear that name?”
Maya and Samuel exchanged looks.
“Nathan.”
His voice dropped.
“I can't discuss company financial information.”
“Did my husband tell you that?”
“No.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
He exhaled.
“Because the last person who asked about Meridian was fired.”
“Who?”
“Eleanor Price. Controller.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don't know.”
“Find out.”
“I can't.”
“Nathan.”
“I mean I literally can't. Nobody can.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“She disappeared.”
Samuel sat forward.
Nathan continued.
“Her email was deleted. Personnel file removed. Gavin told everyone she resigned.”
“And you didn't believe him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she left something in my desk the morning she disappeared.”
“What?”
“A flash drive.”
I stopped breathing.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“What's on it?”
“I never opened it.”
“Why not?”
His answer came quietly.
“Because there was a note taped to it.”
“What did it say?”
Nathan swallowed.
“Give this to Victoria Prescott if Henry Caldwell's daughter ever asks about Meridian.”
I looked at Samuel.
“When can I get it?”
Nathan hesitated.
Then I heard a noise on his end.
A door opening.
Nathan whispered:
May you like
“Someone just came into my office.”
The line went dead.
