Chapter 2: The Billionaire's Secret Folder
Gideon Ashford's penthouse office overlooked the Manhattan skyline.
I arrived at six that evening, wearing a simple cream sweater and jeans. I hadn't bothered with makeup. I hadn't even changed out of the clothes I'd worn to Preston's office.
A woman in a navy suit escorted me through a private elevator.
"Mr. Ashford is expecting you," she said.
The doors opened onto a spacious office lined with dark walnut shelves and enormous windows.
Gideon stood beside his desk.
He was in his early fifties, silver at his temples, with the kind of quiet authority that made people lower their voices without realizing it.
"Vivian," he said, extending his hand.
"Thank you for seeing me.""
"Please sit.""
He waited until I was seated before placing a thick folder on the desk.
I noticed something immediately.
My name was printed across the front.
*VIVIAN WHITMORE — FIRE INCIDENT INVESTIGATION.*
"Why does your company have a file about my accident?""
"Because Preston submitted a compensation claim to Ashford Global's insurance division three days after the fire.""
I frowned.
"What compensation claim?""
Gideon opened the folder.
"Your husband claimed that the fire resulted in permanent injuries to you and substantial financial losses to your household. The policy covered certain emergency circumstances involving employees and their spouses.""
I stared at him.
"Preston told me the claim was rejected.""
Gideon nodded slowly.
"It wasn't.""
He slid a statement across the desk.
The amount made my eyes widen.
$2,800,000.
"That's impossible.""
"The payment was approved and transferred to an account controlled by Preston.""
I picked up the paper.
The account number meant nothing to me, but the transaction date was unmistakable.
Three days after I had been admitted to the burn unit.
Three days after surgeons had begun discussing whether I would survive without additional operations.
"Where did the money go?""
Gideon opened another document.
"Some of it was transferred into a private investment account. Some went toward a condominium in Manhattan. There were also payments to a luxury jewelry retailer and a property management company in Connecticut.""
My throat tightened.
"The Connecticut house?""
"Purchased under Preston's name six months after the accident.""
I remembered that house.
Preston had told me he'd bought it using a bonus from work. He'd said he wanted to give me a beautiful place to recover.
I'd spent months believing his success was something we'd built together.
"Why are you showing me this?"" I whispered.
"Because I don't think this was an isolated incident.""
Gideon removed a second folder.
"This is an internal audit involving $4.6 million in company funds.""
I looked up.
"Is Preston involved?""
"His signature appears on several authorizations.""
"Then why hasn't he been arrested?""
"Because the investigation is still ongoing. I need evidence, not assumptions.""
He turned a page.
"Your husband has been moving money through consulting companies. One of those companies has a connection to Cassidy Vaughn.""
My chest tightened.
"You know about them?""
Gideon studied my face.
"I know more than I'd like to.""
He placed a photograph on the desk.
It showed Preston and Cassidy entering an expensive apartment building. Her hand rested on his chest. His arm circled her waist.
The date was from eight months earlier.
I looked away.
"She's pregnant," I said.
Gideon didn't seem surprised.
"I'm sorry, Vivian.""
I swallowed.
"Does the company know?""
"The board knows there are irregularities. They don't know the full extent of the personal relationships involved.""
I rubbed my palms together.
"Why did you contact me instead of confronting Preston?""
Gideon leaned back.
"Because there is something about the original fire that doesn't make sense.""
I stopped moving.
"What do you mean?""
He pulled out a medical authorization.
The document contained my signature.
Or something resembling it.
"Do you remember signing this?""
I leaned forward.
It was dated twelve days after the accident.
I had been heavily medicated then. I barely remembered those days.
"What is it?""
"A release authorizing an outside medical consultant to access your treatment records.""
"Who requested it?""
Gideon turned the page.
The name was printed clearly.
Dr. Martin Hales.
My surgeon.
The man who had overseen my skin grafts.
The same man who had repeatedly told me my scars were too severe for further reconstructive procedures.
I felt cold.
"Why would he need access to my financial records?""
"He didn't.""
Gideon placed another page beside it.
"This is a payment record. Your husband transferred money to a medical consulting company controlled by someone in Dr. Hales's family.""
I stared at the numbers.
"How much?""
"Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars over three years.""
My stomach turned.
"Are you saying my surgeon was paid to do something to me?""
"I'm saying the payments require an explanation.""
I stood up abruptly.
"I need to go home.""
Gideon didn't try to stop me.
"Vivian, before you leave, I want to make one thing clear.""
I turned.
"Your husband has been telling people you're emotionally unstable. He's also been suggesting that your injuries make you incapable of managing your own financial affairs.""
I felt my blood run cold.
"Why?""
"Because he recently submitted paperwork requesting sole control over several assets connected to your marriage.""
I looked at the folder again.
There was one more document underneath the others.
A property transfer.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
But I'd never signed it.
I looked at Gideon.
"He forged my name.""
Gideon nodded.
"And there's another problem. The transfer was witnessed by someone who will be attending Friday night's gala.""
"Who?""
He slowly turned the page.
My eyes settled on the name.
Dr. Martin Hales.
I left the penthouse with copies of the documents and Gideon's direct number.
On the drive home, I stopped at a red light and looked at myself in the rearview mirror.
For five years, I'd thought the hardest part of surviving the fire was learning to live with my scars.
Now I wondered whether someone had made sure those scars would remain.
When I entered our apartment, Preston was sitting on the sofa, drinking whiskey.
He glanced at the folder in my hand.
"Where have you been?""
"Meeting someone.""
"Who?""
"Gideon Ashford.""
His glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
"What?""
"Your boss.""
Preston stood.
"Why were you meeting him?""
"Maybe you should ask him.""
His expression hardened.
"Vivian, don't start playing games.""
I placed the folder on the kitchen counter.
"Did you receive $2.8 million after the fire?""
Silence.
For one second, I watched the color drain from his face.
Then he laughed.
A short, ugly laugh.
"Where did you hear that?""
"Is it true?""
"That money was complicated.""
"You told me the claim was denied.""
"Because you were recovering! You didn't need to worry about finances.""
I stared at him.
"You let me pay thousands of dollars in medical bills from my savings.""
Preston slammed his glass onto the counter.
"Don't pretend you know how much pressure I was under!""
"Where did the money go?""
He stepped closer.
"Stay away from Gideon.""
"Why?""
"Because you have no idea what you're getting involved in.""
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I asked the question that had been burning inside me since the office conversation.
"How long have you been sleeping with Cassidy?""
His face changed.
And before he could answer, his phone lit up on the counter.
A message appeared.
*Cassidy: Baby, I told Dr. Hales we need to finish the arrangement before Friday. Vivian must never find out what we agreed to.*
May you like
Preston lunged for the phone.
But I had already read it.
