Chapter 7 - The Account With Maisie’s Name
Martin Shaw had been my father's attorney for twenty-three years.
He had held me when I cried at my mother's funeral.
He had helped teach me to drive.
And he was the third person who knew about the trust.
Richard stared at him.
“Sit.”
Martin didn't.
“What happened?”
I watched his eyes.
Not his mouth.
His eyes went to the audio file.
“You recognize the voice?” I asked.
“Grant's.”
“The other one.”
A pause.
“No.”
Richard said, “Listen again.”
Martin refused.
That was answer enough.
Security moved closer.
Martin raised both hands.
“I didn't plan any of this.”
My stomach dropped.
Richard's face hardened.
“What did you do?”
Martin sat.
Twenty years of loyalty collapsed in twenty minutes.
He had gambling debts.
Then investment losses.
Then debts again.
Seven years earlier, Grant's consulting firm approached him seeking information about Hale Meridian.
Martin sold harmless information first.
Schedules.
Corporate structure.
Then he sold my identity.
Then the trust.
“I never thought he'd marry her,” Martin said.
My father looked ready to break him in half.
“You sold my daughter.”
“No.”
“You gave a predator the map to her life.”
Martin lowered his head.
“What about Maisie's account?” I asked.
He looked up.
“That was me.”
Richard froze.
Martin explained.
Once he realized Grant's intentions, guilt set in.
But instead of confessing, he began moving his own money into a protected account for Maisie.
Twenty-four million dollars.
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“For what?”
“For the day Grant tried to take her inheritance.”
I stared at him.
“You could have told me.”
“I would have gone to prison.”
“You chose yourself.”
“Yes.”
The honesty was brutal.
“Where is Vanessa?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took her?”
“I don't know.”
Richard stepped closer.
“You're lying.”
Martin's phone rang.
He stared at the screen.
Unknown number.
Richard told him to answer on speaker.
Martin did.
Grant's voice filled the room.
“Martin.”
Nobody spoke.
“I know you're with them.”
Martin looked at me.
Grant continued.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“What?”
“The original trust.”
“I don't have it.”
“You took it.”
“No.”
“Then Richard does.”
My father said, “Hello, Gabriel.”
Silence.
Grant breathed once.
Then laughed.
“So she finally told you.”
“You're finished.”
“No, Richard. I'm finally close.”
“To what?”
“Getting what Margaret intended.”
My father went white.
I had never seen that expression before.
Grant continued.
“You never told Sloane, did you?”
“Told me what?” I demanded.
Grant heard.
“Ask Daddy.”
“Grant.”
“Ask him why Margaret changed the trust two weeks before she died.”
I turned toward my father.
“Dad?”
He couldn't look at me.
Grant laughed again.
Then disconnected.
I stood.
“What changed?”
Richard sat heavily.
“Your mother added a condition.”
“What condition?”
“If you had a daughter, a portion of her voting shares would transfer directly to that child.”
“How much?”
“Enough to control Hale Meridian with your shares.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“So Maisie—”
“Is the controlling future beneficiary.”
Suddenly everything made sense.
Grant hadn't merely targeted me.
He had waited for Maisie.
Phase Three.
Age five.
“Why five?”
Martin whispered, “Because of the guardianship clause.”
I turned.
“What guardianship clause?”
“If the child's mother is declared incapacitated before the child turns six, the biological father becomes temporary controller of the child's shares.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Grant had four months.
Four months before Maisie turned six.
Four months to make me look unstable.
Four months to gain control.
My phone vibrated.
A video message.
Vanessa appeared on screen.
She was sitting somewhere dark.
Her face was bruised.
“Sloane,” she whispered, “Grant isn't working alone.”
A shadow moved behind her.
Vanessa looked over her shoulder.
May you like
Then she said a name.
And the video ended before the face entered the frame.
