Chapter 3 - The Dead Heir
“Alexander Halston died twelve years ago,” Richard said.
Nobody answered.
His voice became louder.
“My son died twelve years ago.”
Ethan studied the ownership declaration again.
Alexander James Halston.
Richard’s firstborn.
Victoria’s older brother.
Dead at twenty-seven after his car went through a guardrail outside Aspen.
Ethan knew the story.
Everyone did.
Alexander had been the original heir.
Brilliant.
Reckless.
Charismatic.
The son Richard expected to inherit everything.
After Alexander died, Victoria became the future of Halston Global.
Victoria sat motionless.
“This is impossible.”
Malcolm spoke carefully.
“Obviously someone used his identity.”
Ethan looked at him.
“Obviously?”
“It’s the only rational explanation.”
“Maybe.”
Richard slammed his palm against the desk.
“My son is dead.”
Ethan did not challenge him.
Instead, he asked, “Who identified the body?”
Richard’s face changed.
Victoria looked at her father.
“Dad?”
Richard said nothing.
“Who identified Alex?”
“Charles.”
Richard’s younger brother.
The man currently in London.
The man who had joined their earlier conversation by video.
Ethan immediately called Maya.
“Pull everything on Alexander Halston’s death.”
“Everything?”
“Police report. Insurance. Medical examiner. Vehicle recovery. Death certificate.”
Victoria whispered, “Ethan.”
He looked at her.
Her eyes were wet.
For the first time that night, she did not look like Victoria Halston, billionaire heiress.
She looked like the twenty-nine-year-old woman who had lost her brother at seventeen.
“Don’t do this if it’s nothing.”
“I have to.”
“What if somebody is using him to hurt us?”
“Then I’ll find them.”
She swallowed.
“And if he’s alive?”
Ethan could not give her a comforting lie.
“Then we find him too.”
Richard poured himself a drink.
His hands shook.
Malcolm noticed.
So did Ethan.
“Richard,” Ethan said, “did Alexander have access to the company before he died?”
“He was president of international operations.”
“Banking?”
“Everything.”
“Did he know about Northstar?”
“Northstar didn’t exist.”
Ethan nodded.
That mattered.
If Alexander was alive, he could know Halston.
But he could not know Ethan’s role unless someone inside the company had told him.
Ethan looked at Malcolm.
Again.
Malcolm smiled without warmth.
“You seem determined to blame me.”
“I haven’t blamed you.”
“You keep looking at me.”
“I look at people when they make me curious.”
Richard interrupted.
“Enough.”
Ethan’s laptop chimed.
Maya had found the death certificate.
He opened it.
Cause of death: blunt-force trauma and thermal injury.
Identification: dental records.
Authorized family representative: Charles Halston.
Ethan scrolled.
Something bothered him.
“Where’s the DNA confirmation?”
Richard frowned.
“There wasn’t one.”
“Why?”
“The body was badly burned.”
“That’s why DNA would have mattered.”
“This was twelve years ago.”
“Twelve years ago wasn’t 1910.”
Victoria stood behind him.
“Ethan.”
He zoomed in on the medical examiner’s report.
Dental identification had been supplied by a private dentist.
Dr. Raymond Keene.
Ethan searched.
The dentist had retired nine years earlier.
Moved to Costa Rica.
Then disappeared from public records.
Another coincidence.
Too many coincidences formed architecture.
At 1:40 a.m., the family left the ballroom.
Richard ordered Malcolm to remain available.
Ethan refused to return home with Victoria.
She confronted him near the mansion entrance.
“Where are you going?”
“Northstar.”
“Can I come?”
He looked at her.
Six hours earlier, that question would have sounded absurd.
Now she seemed almost afraid he would say no.
“Why?”
“Because someone used my credentials.”
“That doesn’t require you to be there.”
“My brother may be alive.”
“That does.”
She looked at him.
“And you’re my husband.”
Ethan’s expression hardened.
“Was I your husband when you ordered me onto my knees?”
Victoria flinched.
“I was angry.”
“You were cruel.”
“I know.”
“No. You know it looked bad. That isn’t the same thing.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Nothing tonight.”
He walked toward his car.
Victoria followed.
“Ethan.”
He stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked back.
She was standing beneath the mansion lights in the red dress, holding her shoes in one hand.
Barefoot now.
Stripped of the image she had performed for the ballroom.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
Ethan believed she meant it.
He also knew apologies did not erase patterns.
“Come to Northstar,” he said.
They drove separately.
Northstar Capital occupied three discreet floors of a glass building in downtown Manhattan.
Victoria had passed the building hundreds of times.
She had never known it belonged to her husband.
At 2:16 a.m., Ethan led her through the executive floor.
Employees greeted him.
“Mr. Cole.”
“Ethan.”
“Sir.”
Victoria watched.
Not one person treated him like a tolerated spouse.
They treated him like the person responsible for the building existing.
Maya met them in the conference room.
Thirty-four, sharp-eyed, calm.
She shook Victoria’s hand politely.
“Mrs. Cole.”
Victoria almost corrected her.
She had spent years professionally using Halston.
Tonight, hearing Cole unsettled her.
Maya displayed a network diagram.
“We traced the missing funds.”
“Recovered?” Ethan asked.
“Not yet. But they haven’t left the banking system.”
“Why?”
“Because Arcadia split them.”
Twenty-seven transfers appeared.
“Into what?” Victoria asked.
“Halston debt.”
Ethan stared.
“They stole Halston cash to buy Halston debt?”
“Yes.”
That changed everything.
The attacker was not stealing money.
They were buying control.
Maya enlarged the diagram.
“If Arcadia combines these purchases with the bonds already held by three related entities, they could control twenty-two percent of Halston’s senior debt.”
Ethan calculated quickly.
“Enough to challenge Northstar.”
“Yes.”
Victoria looked lost.
“What does that mean?”
Ethan answered.
“Someone is preparing to take your company.”
She went still.
“Alexander?”
“We don’t know.”
Maya placed another document on the screen.
“We found something else.”
A private aviation manifest.
Zurich to New York.
Three days earlier.
Passenger listed under the name Adrian Cross.
Passport photograph attached.
Victoria stopped breathing.
The man in the photograph was older.
Beard.
Scar along his left cheek.
But she knew those eyes.
“Alex.”
Richard arrived forty minutes later.
Victoria had called him despite Ethan asking her to wait.
Richard walked into the conference room, saw the photograph, and grabbed the table.
“My God.”
Ethan watched him carefully.
Richard was shocked.
But underneath the shock was something else.
Fear.
Not the fear of seeing a dead son alive.
The fear of seeing someone return.
Ethan asked, “What aren’t you telling us?”
Richard looked at him.
“Nothing.”
Victoria turned.
“Dad.”
Richard walked to the window.
“Alexander and I fought before he died.”
“About what?”
“The company.”
“That’s not enough.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“He accused me of hiding losses.”
Ethan’s attention sharpened.
“What losses?”
“An overseas subsidiary.”
“Which one?”
Richard hesitated.
“Halston Meridian.”
Maya looked at Ethan.
They both knew the name.
Meridian had disappeared from Halston’s consolidated filings eleven years ago.
Richard continued.
“Alexander believed someone was siphoning money through foreign contracts.”
“How much?”
“Maybe two hundred million.”
“Who did he suspect?”
Richard looked toward the door.
It opened.
Malcolm Price walked in.
Nobody had invited him.
He carried an old brown folder.
“I think,” Malcolm said, “you should all see this.”
Ethan stood.
“How did you get upstairs?”
Malcolm ignored him.
He placed the folder on the table.
Richard stared at it.
The label read:
ALEXANDER HALSTON — INTERNAL INVESTIGATION.
Victoria reached for it.
Richard caught her wrist.
“No.”
She stared at her father.
“Why?”
Richard’s face had gone gray.
“Because that file was destroyed twelve years ago.”
Malcolm smiled faintly.
“No, Richard.”
He opened the folder.
“It was hidden.”
Inside was a photograph.
Alexander Halston stood beside another man outside a private bank in Geneva.
The second man was younger, but unmistakable.
Richard Halston.
May you like
On the back, someone had written a date.
Three days after Alexander’s funeral.
