Chapter 6 - Thirty Witnesses and One Missing File
Gavin's smile frightened me more than the federal agents.
Samuel opened the door.
Six investigators entered.
Two identified themselves as FBI agents.
Three were from the Securities and Exchange Commission.
The sixth woman introduced herself as Assistant U.S. Attorney Rebecca Sloan.
She looked around the room.
“Gavin Prescott?”
Gavin stepped forward.
“Yes.”
“We need to speak with you regarding suspected securities fraud and unlawful transfer of corporate assets.”
His expression remained calm.
“I'll contact counsel.”
“You should.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“Victoria Prescott?”
“Yes.”
“We also need to speak with you.”
Gavin's smile widened slightly.
That was why he had looked pleased.
He believed I was implicated.
Maybe I was.
On paper, my signature existed.
My father's trust owned hidden rights.
Money had moved through a company connected to my family.
Gavin had spent years building a structure.
Perhaps part of that structure had been designed to collapse on me.
Rebecca asked everyone to remain separated.
For the next two hours, my home became an interview site.
I told them everything.
The video call.
The necklace.
The folder.
Samuel.
Maya.
The forged signature.
Project Phoenix.
Rebecca listened without reacting.
Then she asked:
“Did you authorize any transfers from Caldwell Legacy Partners?”
“No.”
“Did you know it existed?”
“Not until yesterday.”
She studied me.
“You expect us to believe you were beneficiary of a controlling corporate interest worth hundreds of millions and didn't know?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my father designed it that way.”
“Convenient.”
“Not particularly.”
She almost smiled.
“Mrs. Prescott, your signature appears on eleven documents.”
My stomach dropped.
“Eleven?”
She placed copies in front of me.
Loan guarantees.
Transfer approvals.
Waivers.
One authorization moved $9 million.
Another pledged trust assets.
All signed by me.
None were mine.
“I've never seen these.”
“Your husband says otherwise.”
Of course he did.
“What does he say?”
“That you and your father created the structure to conceal assets from Prescott shareholders.”
I laughed.
Rebecca didn't.
“He says Project Phoenix was designed to unwind your family's hidden control.”
“By selling Prescott assets to companies he owns?”
“He says those companies are owned jointly.”
“By whom?”
“You and him.”
There it was.
Gavin hadn't simply forged my signature.
He had made me his partner on paper.
If Project Phoenix collapsed, I would collapse with it.
“He planned this,” I said.
Rebecca watched me.
“Can you prove that?”
I thought of Sophie.
Maya.
Eleanor.
Nathan.
Thirty employees.
Maybe.
Then I remembered the flash drive.
“There's a drive.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“What drive?”
Nathan had given it to me.
Maya had opened it.
Where was it now?
I looked through the documents.
My handbag.
My pockets.
Nothing.
“Maya!”
She appeared in the doorway with an agent.
“The flash drive Nathan gave us.”
Her face changed.
“I thought you had it.”
“No.”
The agent frowned.
“When did you last see it?”
“In Samuel's car.”
Nathan was brought in.
He didn't have it.
Samuel didn't.
We searched.
Nothing.
One missing flash drive.
The only original physical evidence connecting Eleanor to the investigation.
Gavin had been in the room with us.
Had he taken it?
Rebecca looked unconvinced.
“Digital copies?”
“Yes,” Maya said. “I imaged it.”
“Good.”
But Maya's expression worried me.
“What?”
“One directory was encrypted.”
“Did you copy it?”
“Yes.”
“Then what's wrong?”
“The encryption key was stored on the physical device.”
The missing drive mattered.
Gavin knew it.
That was why he had smiled.
The agents eventually left with computers, documents, and Gavin.
He wasn't arrested.
Not yet.
His attorneys met him downtown.
At 3:40 in the morning, I sat alone in my kitchen.
Our anniversary dinner remained untouched.
I finally carried the plates to the trash.
Fourteen years.
Into a garbage bag.
It should have felt symbolic.
It didn't.
It felt like cleaning.
At 8:00, Prescott's board called an emergency meeting.
Gavin attended remotely with counsel.
I attended with Samuel.
The board had eleven directors.
Most had known me for years.
None had ever expected me to sit at their table.
Gavin appeared on the screen.
“Victoria has no authority here.”
Samuel placed the trust documents before the board.
“She does now.”
The general counsel reviewed them.
Gavin's face hardened.
“This conversion is invalid.”
“Why?” Samuel asked.
“Because Victoria waived it.”
He produced my forged waiver.
I had expected that.
Samuel produced a handwriting expert's preliminary analysis.
“Mrs. Prescott did not sign this.”
Gavin's attorney objected.
The board erupted.
Then Maya presented the Meridian transactions.
Silence.
Finally, I stood.
“My father invested in this company before most of you knew its name. His agreement included a conversion provision if corporate assets were misused.”
Gavin stared at me through the screen.
“I didn't ask for that power.”
I placed my hand on the documents.
“But I'm using it.”
Samuel delivered formal notice.
Caldwell Legacy Partners converted its interest.
Fifty-one percent.
The room changed.
For fourteen years, Gavin had been the unquestioned center of Prescott Strategic Holdings.
At 8:43 that morning, he became a minority shareholder in the company bearing his name.
I expected satisfaction.
Instead, I felt responsibility.
Thousands of employees were waking up afraid.
Thirty had watched the beginning.
Now everyone would see the consequences.
My first action was simple.
Freeze Project Phoenix.
My second:
Suspend Gavin from all executive authority pending investigation.
My third:
Protect payroll and employee benefits.
At noon, I addressed the company.
Thirty familiar faces appeared among hundreds on the internal broadcast.
I recognized the woman who had covered her mouth.
The man who had looked down.
I wondered what they expected.
A humiliated wife?
An angry heiress?
I gave them neither.
“I know many of you have questions about yesterday.”
Gavin's humiliation did not belong in the announcement.
“The company is reviewing serious financial irregularities. Operations will continue. Payroll, benefits, and client commitments remain protected.”
I paused.
“No employee will be punished for cooperating with investigators.”
That sentence mattered.
People began coming forward within hours.
Expense reports.
Emails.
Deleted instructions.
Private messages.
One employee had screenshots.
Another had recorded a meeting.
A finance manager remembered Sophie delivering documents.
Then at 4:11, the woman from the video call who had covered her mouth entered my temporary office.
Her name was Rachel Monroe.
She worked in treasury.
“I need to show you something.”
She placed her phone on the desk.
A photograph.
Gavin.
Sophie.
A bank executive.
Taken three months earlier.
On the table between them sat my father's black briefcase.
“Where was this?”
“New York.”
“Why were you there?”
“Investor conference.”
“What were they doing?”
“I don't know.”
Then Rachel swiped.
Second photograph.
The briefcase was open.
Inside was a flash drive.
Not Nathan's.
A different one.
Red.
My father's initials were printed on it.
H.C.
“Did Gavin take it?”
Rachel nodded.
“He put it in his pocket.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
My father had been dead four years.
Whatever was on that drive, Gavin had only recently found it.
“Why are you showing me now?”
Rachel looked frightened.
“Because yesterday, after the call ended, Mr. Prescott came to treasury.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked us to transfer everything remaining in one account.”
“What account?”
She handed me a printed number.
Maya ran it.
Her face went white.
“Victoria.”
“What?”
“This isn't thirty-eight million.”
“How much?”
She turned the screen.
$214,673,921.
I stared at the number.
“Where was he sending it?”
Maya traced the destination.
Then stopped.
The beneficiary wasn't Gavin.
It wasn't Sophie.
It was a trust.
She opened the registration.
My heart stopped.
May you like
The trust carried my name.
And according to the documents, I had created it three weeks before my father died.
