Chapter 2 - The Name My Father Feared
The man inside the bridal suite whispered, “You weren’t supposed to come up here.”
Gabriel stepped in front of Simone and saw a leather document case on the bed.
One corner carried a faded Bellamy family seal.
Under the seal was a handwritten date.
May 14, 1991.
Gabriel’s face changed.
That was Simone’s birthday.
The man at the door was Preston.
Simone stared at him.
“You were downstairs.”
“I took the service elevator.”
“Why?”
Preston looked toward Gabriel.
“That isn’t your concern.”
Gabriel leaned against the doorframe.
“Considering you left your own wedding reception to reach this room before Simone, it became my concern.”
Preston attempted a smile.
“You really enjoy making everything sound criminal.”
“No. Criminal things generally do that themselves.”
Simone walked past both men.
The bridal suite looked as though somebody had searched it in a hurry.
Drawers were open.
A makeup case lay overturned.
Two suitcases stood unzipped near the closet.
On the bed sat a dark leather portfolio.
Simone touched the faded crest.
Bellamy & Ward Holdings.
Her grandfather’s company.
Or what had once been his company.
After his death, Richard had told Simone and Celeste that the business had been sold.
Simone had been twenty-two.
Celeste twenty-five.
The money, Richard said, had mostly disappeared into debt.
Nobody questioned him.
“What is this?” Simone asked.
Preston stepped forward.
“Private family records.”
“I am family.”
“Not records you need tonight.”
Simone looked at him.
“My sister just threw me onto the floor because she was afraid I would find something. My father sent me here. You rushed here ahead of me. I think tonight is exactly when I need them.”
She opened the case.
Preston grabbed it.
Gabriel’s hand closed over his wrist.
“Don’t.”
Preston glared at him.
“You think everyone is afraid of your name.”
“No,” Gabriel replied. “Only people who have a reason to be.”
Preston released the folder.
Simone opened it.
The first document was a trust agreement.
She understood little of the legal language.
But she understood her own name.
SIMONE ELEANOR BELLAMY.
Beneficiary.
She looked at the next page.
Fifty-one percent ownership.
Bellamy & Ward Holdings.
She read it twice.
Then again.
“This company doesn’t exist.”
Gabriel said nothing.
Preston’s silence became louder.
Simone looked up.
“Does it?”
Preston adjusted his cuffs.
“The corporate structure changed.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Gabriel answered.
“It exists.”
Simone turned slowly.
“How do you know?”
“Because I tried to buy a waterfront parcel from it four months ago.”
She felt the room tilt.
“My father told me the company was sold sixteen years ago.”
“It wasn’t.”
Preston rubbed his jaw.
“This isn’t as simple as it looks.”
Simone laughed once.
“People say that when something is exactly as bad as it looks.”
She returned to the papers.
Richard had served as trustee.
Celeste had been listed as secondary beneficiary.
Simone first.
Celeste second.
“Why me?”
Neither man answered.
Simone pulled out another document.
A letter.
Her mother’s handwriting.
She knew it immediately.
The round E.
The narrow T.
The way Eleanor Bellamy always pressed harder when writing Simone’s name.
My dearest Simone—
Her vision blurred.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
Gabriel moved farther away, giving her room.
Preston remained rigid by the door.
Simone read.
Her mother explained that the company had originally belonged to Eleanor’s father, not Richard’s family.
She had placed controlling shares into trust for Simone because Simone had worked beside her grandfather every summer from age fourteen onward.
Celeste had refused to participate.
That had never mattered emotionally.
But legally, Eleanor wanted the person who understood the employees, warehouses, properties, and long-term obligations to inherit control.
Simone remembered those summers.
Sweeping office floors.
Sorting invoices.
Eating sandwiches with warehouse workers.
Following her grandfather through construction sites in oversized safety boots.
She had loved every minute.
Then her grandfather died.
Her mother became ill.
Within two years, the company disappeared from conversation.
Except apparently it had never disappeared.
The letter continued.
Richard was to manage the trust until Simone turned thirty.
She was now thirty-nine.
Nine years overdue.
Her hands began to shake.
“Dad stole it.”
Preston spoke.
“He protected it.”
“From me?”
“From instability.”
“What instability?”
He hesitated.
Simone stood.
“What instability, Preston?”
“Your mother’s death devastated you.”
“It devastated all of us.”
“You left Chicago.”
“For graduate school.”
“You didn’t show interest in running a corporation.”
“Because I was told it had been sold!”
The shout escaped before she could stop it.
She closed her eyes.
Breathed.
Then looked at Gabriel.
“Why did you call me your future wife?”
Preston stiffened.
Gabriel did not.
“Because that trust is connected to mine.”
Simone stared.
“What?”
He nodded toward the case.
“There should be another folder.”
She searched.
Beneath the letter was a black envelope.
MORETTI-BELLAMY DEVELOPMENT AGREEMENT.
Her stomach dropped.
She opened it.
Thirty years earlier, Eleanor Bellamy and Gabriel’s father, Antonio Moretti, had jointly purchased an industrial corridor along the Chicago River.
The land was now worth hundreds of millions.
Neither side could sell controlling interests without offering the other family first refusal.
A handwritten addendum had been attached years later.
Simone read it.
Then reread it.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
“Unfortunately not.”
The addendum was not a forced marriage agreement.
Nothing so medieval.
Instead it established an option: if the heirs of the two families chose to merge their controlling holdings through marriage, a dormant development trust would activate, combining properties otherwise locked behind decades of restrictive covenants.
The clause had been written half playfully by their parents when Gabriel and Simone were children.
Yet legally, it still carried extraordinary financial weight.
“That doesn’t make me your future wife.”
“No.”
“Then why did you say it?”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Because your sister knew about the clause.”
Simone turned toward Preston.
He looked away.
Gabriel continued.
“And because six months ago your father contacted me.”
The air left Simone’s lungs.
“What did he say?”
“That somebody was trying to force the trust into a sale.”
“Who?”
Gabriel looked at Preston.
Simone followed his gaze.
Preston’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
Gabriel ignored him.
“Your father feared Celeste was being manipulated.”
“My sister?”
“Or participating willingly.”
Simone clutched the papers.
“And marriage stops the sale?”
“Not automatically. But if you reclaim your shares, several attempted transfers become impossible.”
“So you announced an engagement that doesn’t exist.”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“It was effective.”
Simone almost snapped back.
Then realized he was right.
Celeste had stopped attacking her.
Preston had abandoned his own reception to race upstairs.
And documents supposedly hidden for years were now sitting in Simone’s hands.
“You used me.”
Gabriel’s face remained calm.
“I protected you.”
“By lying?”
“By making everyone in that ballroom understand that humiliating you had consequences.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No.”
His answer surprised her.
“You’re right.”
The anger inside her hesitated.
Gabriel stepped closer.
“I should not have made that announcement without your permission.”
“Then why did you?”
His eyes moved toward the door.
“Because someone was about to have you removed from this hotel before you ever saw these documents.”
Preston laughed.
“That’s paranoia.”
Gabriel pulled out his phone.
One message.
Sent forty minutes earlier.
REMOVE S. BELLAMY FROM BALLROOM BEFORE 8:30. NO POLICE. KEEP IT QUIET.
The sender’s number was hidden.
But beneath it was a security acknowledgment.
Authorized by Preston Vale.
Simone looked at him.
Preston’s face emptied.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“You were causing tension.”
“I was sitting in a chair.”
“Celeste was upset.”
“So you ordered security to remove me?”
“To escort you out.”
“Before what happened at eight-thirty?”
Nobody spoke.
Gabriel looked at the clock.
8:24.
Simone noticed.
“What happens in six minutes?”
Preston moved toward the bedside table.
Gabriel blocked him.
Simone followed Preston’s gaze.
A laptop.
Open.
A document waiting for electronic signatures.
She stepped closer.
BELLMY & WARD HOLDINGS — EMERGENCY SHAREHOLDER TRANSFER.
Her name appeared at the bottom.
With a signature already placed beside it.
Simone stopped breathing.
“That’s not my signature.”
Gabriel’s eyes hardened.
Preston went pale.
“Simone—”
“That is not my signature.”
At 8:30, the transfer would automatically execute.
Fifty-one percent of her trust holdings.
To Vale Strategic Capital.
Preston’s company.
Simone finally understood why Celeste wanted her gone.
Why Preston needed her away from the hotel.
Why her father had insisted she attend.
Perhaps Richard had planned to confess.
Perhaps Celeste discovered it.
Perhaps the entire wedding had become the perfect distraction for something much larger.
Gabriel closed the laptop.
“Transfer stopped.”
Preston swore.
“You have no authority.”
“Neither do you.”
Simone faced Preston.
“Did Celeste sign this?”
He stared at her.
“Ask your sister.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I love Celeste.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I was trying to protect our future.”
“With my company?”
“It should have been hers!”
The words burst from him.
Simone stepped back.
Preston realized what he had admitted.
“She told you that.”
He said nothing.
“My sister believes the company belongs to her.”
“She believes your mother favored you.”
“My mother left her millions in other assets.”
“She wanted control.”
“So you forged my signature?”
Preston shook his head.
“I didn’t forge anything.”
“Then who did?”
A knock sounded.
Three slow taps.
Gabriel looked toward the door.
Preston’s entire body went rigid.
“Who is that?” Simone asked.
No answer.
Another three taps.
Gabriel moved silently toward the door.
“Stay behind me.”
Simone hated the instruction.
But something in Preston’s expression made her obey.
Gabriel opened the door.
Nobody stood in the hallway.
Only a white envelope lay on the carpet.
Gabriel picked it up.
Simone’s name was written across the front.
He handed it to her.
Inside was a photograph.
Her mother.
Richard.
Antonio Moretti.
And a little girl Simone recognized as herself.
She was perhaps seven.
Beside her stood a dark-haired boy around ten.
Gabriel.
On the front someone had written:
THE AGREEMENT BEGAN HERE.
Simone remembered Richard’s warning.
Don’t believe what’s written on the front.
She flipped the photograph over.
There were only six words.
Written in her mother’s handwriting.
RICHARD IS NOT SIMONE’S FATHER.
Simone stared at the sentence.
Then the elevator bell sounded outside.
Someone was coming.
Gabriel stepped toward the hallway.
May you like
Simone heard her father’s voice.
And then she heard Celeste scream his name.
