Chapter 7 - The Queen Was Never a Pawn
Nathan raised both hands.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Beatrice looked at the pistol.
“Interesting decoration.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“Whose?”
“My mother’s.”
“Where is she?”
“Coming.”
Beatrice stepped inside.
The missing ledger pages lay beneath a glass paperweight.
She wanted to run to them.
Instead, she remained still.
“You knew?”
Nathan looked ashamed.
“Not everything.”
“Did you know your wedding was fake?”
“Yes.”
“Did your fiancée?”
“No.”
Beatrice stared at him.
“You let a woman believe she married you?”
“My mother said—”
“I don’t care what your mother said.”
Nathan looked away.
“Fair.”
“Did you know about me?”
“Two months ago.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Befriend you.”
“And then?”
He said nothing.
“Marry me?”
His silence answered.
Beatrice laughed.
“Your family has extraordinary confidence.”
“I told her it wouldn’t work.”
“Why?”
Nathan almost smiled.
“Because you don’t like me.”
“I barely know you.”
“Exactly.”
Footsteps sounded.
Rebecca Wilkes-Hart entered.
She wore the same champagne-colored gown from the reception.
Perfect hair.
Perfect posture.
Perfect calm.
“Beatrice.”
“Rebecca.”
“I’m sorry things became unpleasant.”
“Someone threatened my mother.”
“I didn’t authorize that.”
“But someone working for you did.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed.
“You sound like your father.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Rebecca approached the table.
“My father spent decades building stability.”
“By stealing.”
“By organizing.”
“Those are different words.”
“They are different realities.”
Rebecca poured herself water.
“New York runs on relationships, Beatrice. Favors. Debts. Information. Your father believed numbers existed independently of people.”
“He believed stealing was stealing.”
“He was naive.”
“And yet you’re still looking for his ledger.”
Rebecca smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The reason I always liked you.”
Beatrice nearly laughed.
“You have an unusual way of showing affection.”
“You notice contradictions.”
“I’m paid to.”
“You were underpaid.”
“Finally, something we agree on.”
Rebecca studied her.
“You think Adrian Moretti rescued you.”
“No.”
“Then why is he here?”
Beatrice kept her expression neutral.
Rebecca smiled.
“Please. Did you really think I wouldn’t know?”
Beatrice’s pulse jumped.
“He is outside with six men.”
Rebecca continued.
“Patrick is with Eleanor and Charles. Evan Cole copied our access logs. Three law firms received encrypted packages forty-seven minutes ago.”
Beatrice’s stomach tightened.
Rebecca knew everything.
“Then why are we talking?”
“Because none of it matters without those pages.”
She touched the ledger.
“They prove the trust was created through fraudulent transfers.”
“Meaning?”
“If released, the trust collapses.”
“And you lose your leverage over me.”
“Yes.”
“So why not destroy them?”
“Because they also contain something I need.”
Rebecca opened to the final missing page.
A list of account numbers.
“Your father hid a reserve fund.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“That isn’t a number.”
“Two hundred and twelve million.”
Beatrice stared.
“Stolen?”
“Recovered.”
“From whom?”
“My father.”
Rebecca smiled.
“Patrick and Vittorio quietly removed the network’s reserve funds before they disappeared.”
“And hid them.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“That’s what I need you to determine.”
“Why me?”
“Because Patrick designed the cipher around you.”
Beatrice looked at the page.
Numbers.
Dates.
Letters.
At first meaningless.
Then she saw it.
Every date corresponded to something from her childhood.
Her birthday.
Her mother’s birthday.
Her parents’ anniversary.
The date she started kindergarten.
Personal memories converted into numerical keys.
Rebecca could possess the ledger forever.
Only Beatrice could read it.
“You spent years keeping me insecure because you knew someday you might need me.”
“I needed you manageable.”
There it was.
Beatrice looked down at her golden dress.
At the body people mocked.
At the woman people underestimated.
For years she had believed those humiliations were random cruelty.
Rebecca had weaponized a culture already eager to judge her.
“You made sure I wasn’t promoted.”
“Yes.”
“You encouraged Charles to keep me invisible.”
“Yes.”
“The jokes?”
“I didn’t create people’s prejudices, Beatrice.”
“No.”
Rebecca’s smile was thin.
“You merely found them useful.”
For the first time, Rebecca looked impressed.
“Exactly.”
Beatrice stepped closer to the ledger.
“I can decode it.”
“I know.”
“But I want something.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“Position?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“The truth.”
Rebecca laughed.
“That is always more expensive.”
“Who killed my father?”
“He isn’t dead.”
“Who tried?”
Rebecca’s smile disappeared.
“My father ordered the car burned.”
“Who was supposed to be inside?”
“Patrick.”
“Who helped him escape?”
“Vittorio.”
“Who intercepted his letters?”
“My father.”
“And after Daniel died?”
“I did.”
Beatrice’s throat tightened.
“You kept my parents apart.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because fear is useful only while people remain uncertain.”
Beatrice nodded calmly.
“Thank you.”
Rebecca frowned.
“For what?”
“For saying it clearly.”
Her eyes moved to Beatrice’s necklace.
Rebecca’s face changed.
She grabbed it.
The tiny recorder tore free.
Nathan stepped backward.
Rebecca crushed it beneath her shoe.
“You think I’m stupid?”
“No.”
Beatrice remained calm.
“I think you’re predictable.”
A phone rang.
Rebecca’s.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
Beatrice smiled.
“The recorder wasn’t transmitting.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“It was bait.”
Outside, sirens approached.
Rebecca rushed toward the ledger.
Beatrice grabbed it first.
Nathan moved between his mother and the pistol.
“Stop.”
Rebecca stared at her son.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Nathan.”
“No.”
For the first time that night, the groom looked like a man capable of making his own decision.
“You used me.”
“I protected you.”
“You used everyone.”
Rebecca reached toward the weapon.
Nathan pushed it farther away.
The warehouse doors opened.
Adrian entered with investigators and security behind him.
Rebecca looked at Beatrice.
“You think this ends because you recorded a conversation?”
“No.”
Beatrice held up the ledger.
“It ends because accountants keep copies.”
Rebecca’s face drained.
The encrypted packages did not contain Patrick’s evidence.
They contained Beatrice’s reconstruction of the modern transfers, Evan’s access logs, Charles’s testimony, corporate records, and instructions to release everything if she failed to check in.
Rebecca had been so obsessed with the old ledger that she had ignored the new evidence.
Investigators took control of the room.
Adrian walked directly toward Beatrice.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her necklace.
“You let her discover the recorder.”
“Yes.”
“You could have mentioned that part.”
“You would have objected.”
“Correct.”
“That’s why I didn’t.”
His mouth twitched.
Rebecca was escorted toward the door.
She stopped beside Beatrice.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“The money.”
Beatrice looked at the ledger.
“The two hundred twelve million?”
Rebecca smiled.
“It was never hidden in an account.”
Beatrice’s confidence faltered.
“What do you mean?”
“It was converted.”
“Into what?”
Rebecca leaned closer.
“Ask Adrian what his father bought twenty-five years ago.”
Then she walked away.
Beatrice slowly turned toward him.
Adrian’s expression told her he already knew.
“Adrian.”
He said nothing.
“What did Vittorio buy?”
Adrian looked toward Patrick.
Patrick lowered his eyes.
Beatrice’s stomach dropped.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Patrick reached inside his coat.
He removed a sealed document.
Beatrice’s name was written across the front.
“This,” he said, “is why Vittorio called you the beneficiary.”
Beatrice broke the seal.
She read the first line.
Then the second.
Her hands began to shake.
The document was not a bank statement.
May you like
It was a deed.
And the property listed beneath her name was something no one had mentioned.
