Chapter 3 - The Billionaire’s Secret
“Tell her,” Ethan said.
Adrian closed the villa door.
Grace stood between the two men.
The folder was missing.
Thirty-eight million dollars was missing.
Celeste Reed might be hurt.
And now the only person she thought she could trust was withholding something.
“Adrian.”
He looked at Grace.
“My father knew your grandfather.”
Ethan scoffed.
“That’s the secret?”
“No.”
Adrian removed his jacket and laid it over a chair.
“My father worked for Samuel Hawthorne.”
Grace stared.
Her grandfather rarely discussed his business years.
Samuel had been warm with Grace and ruthless everywhere else.
After Grace’s parents died in a plane crash when she was sixteen, Samuel raised her.
He taught her to drive.
He attended every graduation.
He also refused to explain why the Hawthorne fortune had slowly disappeared from public view.
“What did your father do for him?”
“He investigated companies before acquisitions.”
Grace understood.
“Due diligence.”
“And fraud.”
Ethan crossed his arms.
“Convenient.”
Adrian ignored him.
“In 2008, Samuel discovered that Calloway Maritime was nearly insolvent. But the insolvency wasn’t caused by the financial crisis.”
Grace felt a chill.
“What caused it?”
“Someone inside the company.”
“Richard?”
“I don’t know.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“You came here accusing my father without proof.”
“I’m telling you what my father believed.”
“And where is your father?”
Adrian’s face changed.
“Dead.”
The room quieted.
“He died eleven years ago.”
Grace softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Officially, it was a boating accident.”
Ethan’s expression shifted.
Adrian continued.
“My father had been investigating financial transfers connected to Calloway Maritime. Three days before he died, he mailed Samuel a package.”
“The trust agreement?”
“Partly.”
Grace looked toward the empty safe.
“What else?”
“A ledger.”
Adrian took out his phone and opened an old scanned image.
Rows of account numbers.
Initials.
Dates.
Grace saw R.C.
Then S.H.
Then another set.
C.R.
Celeste Reed.
Vanessa stepped closer.
“My mother?”
Adrian nodded.
“She was helping him.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Grace suddenly understood why Celeste might have stayed close to Richard for decades.
Not loyalty.
Surveillance.
“Your mother may have been feeding information to Samuel.”
Vanessa sat.
“She never told me.”
“Perhaps she was protecting you.”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“Then she did a terrible job.”
Grace looked at her.
For the first time, Vanessa was no longer simply the woman who had slept with her husband.
She was a daughter terrified for her mother.
Grace hated her.
Grace also understood her.
Both feelings could exist.
Adrian enlarged the ledger.
“The money trail disappeared after my father died. Samuel stopped pursuing it publicly. Instead, he restructured his stake into the Hawthorne Trust.”
Grace whispered, “So the fifty-one percent was insurance.”
“Yes.”
“Against Richard.”
“Against whoever was stealing.”
Ethan paced toward the window.
“My father built Calloway Maritime.”
“No,” Grace said.
All three looked at her.
She remembered something her grandfather once told her.
Never confuse the person standing on the ship with the person who kept it from sinking.
At seventeen, Grace thought he was talking about character.
Now she wondered whether he had meant something literal.
“My grandfather saved it.”
Ethan looked wounded.
Grace did not enjoy that.
But truth did not become cruelty simply because it hurt.
Adrian’s security chief entered.
“Celeste Reed has been found.”
Vanessa stood.
“Where?”
“Service road near the east marina.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa nearly collapsed.
They rushed downstairs.
Celeste was being treated inside a resort medical vehicle.
She had a cut above her eyebrow and bruising on one wrist.
Vanessa ran to her.
“Mom!”
Celeste looked at her daughter.
Then saw Ethan.
Fear replaced relief.
“Get away from him.”
Vanessa froze.
“Mom?”
“Get away from Ethan.”
Ethan stared.
“I didn’t touch you.”
Celeste struggled upright.
“I know.”
Grace stepped closer.
“Mrs. Reed, who did?”
Celeste looked at her.
“Richard.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
Celeste laughed painfully.
“You still think you know your father.”
“He wouldn’t attack you.”
“He did worse than attack me.”
Vanessa crouched beside her.
“What happened?”
Celeste gripped her daughter’s hand.
“I took the folder because Richard threatened you.”
Vanessa stared.
“He said if I didn’t retrieve it, he’d make sure the federal investigation led directly to you.”
“What federal investigation?”
Celeste looked at Grace.
“The money.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Authorities already know?”
“For six months.”
Ethan looked stunned.
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“Because they’re investigating you.”
The words landed heavily.
Vanessa whispered his name.
Ethan backed away.
Grace watched him.
She should have felt satisfaction.
Instead she felt fear.
Because someone had designed this perfectly.
Affair.
Shell company.
Forged signatures.
Missing money.
Every road led toward Ethan and Vanessa.
“Where’s the folder?” Grace asked.
Celeste looked toward the marina.
“Richard took it.”
“Where did he go?”
“He has a boat.”
Adrian turned toward security.
“Lock down the docks.”
Celeste grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
“He wants you to chase him.”
Adrian looked down.
“What?”
Celeste’s breathing became shallow.
“He doesn’t care about the papers anymore.”
Grace felt the baby move.
“Then what does he want?”
Celeste looked at her stomach.
“You.”
Ethan immediately stepped between them.
“Why Grace?”
Celeste’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because Samuel changed the trust after Grace became pregnant.”
Grace stared.
“I never changed anything.”
“You didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“Samuel.”
“My grandfather died four years ago.”
Celeste nodded.
“He prepared for this before he died.”
Grace felt dizzy.
“What did he change?”
Celeste tried to answer.
Then an engine roared from the marina.
Everyone turned.
A white yacht was pulling away.
Richard stood on the stern.
The black folder was in his hand.
And beside him stood a man Grace had not seen since the funeral four years earlier.
May you like
Samuel Hawthorne’s attorney.
The man who had told Grace her grandfather left no final letter.
