Chapter 5: My Father's Secret
I held the photograph between us.
"No more promises.""
Voss looked twenty years older beneath the storage facility's fluorescent lights.
"Wren—"
"No.""
My voice cracked.
I hated that it did.
"You knew Desmond before I married him.""
Voss closed his eyes.
"Yes.""
"How long?""
"Fourteen years.""
My chest tightened.
I'd met Desmond eleven years ago.
"Then he lied.""
"Yes.""
The answer came too quickly.
Too cleanly.
I stared at Voss.
"So did you.""
Naomi quietly stepped away, giving us space without leaving.
Isolde remained seated by the wall.
"Tell me everything," I said.
Voss looked at the photograph.
"Your father invested in Corvina before the company officially launched.""
"I know that.""
"No. You know about Ashcombe Research licensing technology to Corvina.""
"What's the difference?""
"Your father wasn't merely a financial supporter.""
Voss looked directly at me.
"He was one of the architects of the company.""
I couldn't speak.
"Corvina existed because of him?""
"In part.""
"And Desmond?""
Voss exhaled.
"He worked for one of your father's contractors.""
I looked again at the photograph.
Desmond was young.
Ambitious.
Smiling.
Standing close to my father.
"He knew who I was when we met.""
Voss didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Memory hit me with brutal clarity.
A rainy bookstore in Boston.
A man reaching for the same copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.
Desmond laughing.
"Guess we have the same taste.""
I'd told that story at our wedding.
People had called it fate.
It hadn't been fate.
"Did my father introduce us?""
"No.""
"Did Desmond arrange it?""
"I don't know.""
"That's not good enough.""
"It's the truth.""
I walked away from him.
Eleven years of memories rearranged themselves in my head.
The bookstore.
The accidental second meeting.
The restaurant where he supposedly recognized me.
His fascination with my father's work.
His insistence that my surname didn't matter.
Maybe it had been the only thing that mattered.
"What happened between them?"" I asked.
Voss sat on one of the boxes.
"Your father discovered irregularities.""
"What kind?""
"Vendor payments. Inflated invoices. Early versions of what you're seeing now.""
My eyes moved toward the boxes.
"Desmond?""
"Your father suspected him.""
"Why wasn't he fired?""
"He was.""
I froze.
"Desmond told me he left that contractor voluntarily.""
"He didn't.""
Voss rubbed his forehead.
"Your father demanded the contractor terminate him.""
"And then?""
"Two weeks later, someone broke into your father's private office.""
My heartbeat changed.
I remembered that.
Barely.
Dad had called it a burglary.
Nothing important had been taken.
At least that was what he'd told me.
"What was stolen?""
"A prototype authorization token.""
Naomi looked over.
"For banking access?""
Voss nodded.
"Among other things.""
My father died eight months later.
A heart attack.
Sudden.
Natural.
Documented.
Still, my mind went somewhere dark.
Voss saw it.
"No, Wren.""
"You don't know what I'm thinking.""
"I do. And there's no evidence Desmond had anything to do with your father's death.""
I swallowed.
"Then why hide this from me?""
"Because your father asked me to.""
"Why?""
Voss looked ashamed.
"He thought he'd handled Desmond.""
Clearly, he hadn't.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Ms. Ashcombe?""
"Yes.""
"This is Daniel Price with Corvina security. Is Chairman Voss with you?""
"Yes.""
"We have a problem.""
Voss heard the voice and moved closer.
"What happened?""
Price continued.
"Mr. Ashcombe left the hotel.""
My stomach dropped.
"When?""
"Approximately twenty minutes ago.""
"Why wasn't he stopped?""
"He isn't under arrest, ma'am. We had no legal authority to detain him.""
Fair.
Infuriating, but fair.
"Where did he go?""
"We don't know.""
Then Naomi's phone buzzed.
She checked it.
Her expression hardened.
"What?"" I asked.
"Our team recovered part of the deletion request.""
"And?""
"It wasn't initiated by Desmond's account.""
"Whose?""
She turned the screen toward Voss.
"Martin Bell.""
Corvina's CFO.
Voss immediately called him.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
Isolde stood.
"Martin knows about Veyron.""
Every head turned toward her.
"How?""
"I heard them arguing.""
"When?""
"Last month.""
"What did they say?""
She pressed her palms against her temples.
"Desmond said Martin was getting nervous. Martin said he wanted out.""
"Out of what?""
"I don't know.""
Naomi stepped closer.
"Think.""
Isolde's eyes filled with tears.
"He said something about Ashcombe accounts.""
I went cold.
"My accounts?""
"I don't know.""
My phone vibrated again.
This time it was my private wealth manager.
At 12:46 in the morning.
I answered immediately.
"Oliver?""
"Wren, I'm sorry to call this late.""
"What happened?""
"There was an attempted access request against one of the Ashcombe family trusts.""
Every muscle in my body locked.
"When?""
"Eleven minutes ago.""
"Was anything transferred?""
"No. Our secondary verification stopped it.""
"Who initiated the request?""
A pause.
"That's why I'm calling.""
"Oliver.""
"The authorization carried your husband's credentials.""
I looked down at the photograph of Desmond standing beside my father fourteen years earlier.
"Freeze everything.""
"Already done.""
"And Oliver?""
"Yes?""
"Send me every attempted transaction connected to Desmond.""
Another pause.
"Wren, there are more than tonight's.""
My throat tightened.
"How many?""
"I need time to verify.""
"Give me a number.""
"At least seventeen.""
The storage unit went silent.
Then Oliver said something that made the photograph slip from my fingers.
"The first attempt was eight years ago.""
May you like
Eight years.
The same week my father died.
