Chapter 4
We left the gala before midnight.
I wanted Claire to come home with me.
She refused.
“I need to see my mother.”
“No.”
“James—”
“She just threatened you.”
“She always threatens me.”
“That doesn’t make it normal.”
Claire looked exhausted.
We were standing beside Robert’s car while photographers gathered near the hotel entrance.
Someone had already posted the slap online.
My phone kept buzzing.
Claire’s did too.
She looked at the screen once, then turned it facedown.
“I’m not going to Charles’s house,” she said. “I’m going to my old apartment.”
That made me feel slightly better.
Claire had kept the small apartment she owned before we became engaged.
She sometimes used it when she worked late.
Her mother had a key.
I hated that.
“Change the lock.”
“I will.”
“Tonight.”
She almost smiled.
“Okay.”
Robert’s driver brought the car around.
Robert climbed in with me.
Claire kissed me quickly.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Then she whispered, “Don’t let Charles turn this into a war.”
I looked toward the bright hotel doors.
“I think he already did.”
At the foundation office, Rachel had spread documents across the conference table.
She looked like she hadn’t blinked in an hour.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She touched my cheek gently.
“I saw the video.”
“Everyone has.”
“No. I mean I saw the whole video.”
I stopped.
“What whole video?”
Rachel turned her laptop toward me.
The clip circulating publicly began right before Victoria slapped me.
But Rachel had found another recording.
A guest had filmed several seconds earlier.
The video showed Victoria snapping her fingers at me from across the table.
I approached.
She pointed at her wineglass.
I refilled it.
Then another guest bumped my elbow while standing.
The wine spilled.
It clearly wasn’t even my fault.
Victoria slapped me anyway.
Robert watched silently.
Rachel clicked pause.
“This is already spreading.”
I sat down.
“Wonderful.”
“It matters.”
“For what?”
“Because somebody is pushing another version.”
She opened a social media post.
The headline made my stomach turn.
CHARITY FOUNDER STAGES HUMILIATION OF MAJOR DONOR FOR PUBLICITY.
I stared at it.
The anonymous account claimed I had deliberately worn a waiter’s uniform so Victoria would mistake me for staff.
That part was technically true.
Then it claimed I had intentionally spilled wine to provoke her.
Completely false.
The post said witnesses had heard me insulting Victoria before the slap.
Also false.
Within thirty minutes, three financial gossip accounts had repeated it.
Robert leaned toward the screen.
“Charles.”
“We can’t prove that,” Rachel said.
“I don’t need proof to recognize his style.”
I looked at the forged agreement.
“How bad is this?”
Rachel pushed another folder toward me.
“Potentially very bad.”
Under the agreement, failure to maintain a certain cash reserve would trigger a transfer of several program licenses to a company controlled by Harrington Equity.
Our software platform was one of those licenses.
So was the database system we built to connect families with temporary housing.
Without those tools, Second Table would lose years of work.
“But our reserves are fine,” I said.
Rachel looked at me.
“They were.”
My stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?”
She opened a bank statement.
“Six hundred thousand dollars was transferred out yesterday.”
Robert stood.
“To where?”
“A vendor called Eastline Community Solutions.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“Neither have I.”
I reached for my phone.
“Call the bank.”
“I already did.”
Rachel’s eyes met mine.
“The authorization came from our finance director.”
“Paul?”
She nodded.
Paul Mercer had worked beside me for five years.
He had attended my mother’s funeral.
He had helped me move furniture when I opened our first office.
I called him.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Rachel said quietly, “His badge was used here at 2:13 this morning.”
Robert asked, “Do you have security cameras?”
“Yes.”
I pulled up the office system.
The footage from midnight to four was missing.
Every camera.
My skin prickled.
“This wasn’t improvised.”
“No,” Rachel said.
I thought about Charles’s donation.
The agreement.
The missing money.
Paul disappearing.
Someone using my computer.
“This started months ago.”
Robert called his security team.
I called our attorney.
Then Claire called me.
I answered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
Her voice was shaking.
“My apartment door is open.”
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
“Get out.”
“I’m in the hallway.”
“Do not go inside.”
“I haven’t.”
“Call the police.”
“I already did.”
I grabbed my coat.
Robert followed me.
Claire whispered, “James, there’s something taped to the door.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“I can see what it says.”
Her breathing became faster.
“What?”
She was silent for a second.
Then she read it.
“Tell your fiancé to stop digging.”
I felt every muscle in my body tighten.
“I’m coming.”
The police arrived before we did.
Claire was standing beside an officer when I reached the building.
I pulled her into my arms.
She felt cold.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone?”
She shook her head.
The apartment had been searched.
Drawers emptied.
Closet doors opened.
Nothing valuable appeared missing.
The officer asked whether Claire had enemies.
She laughed bitterly.
“My mother.”
I looked at her.
She immediately shook her head.
“No. She’s cruel, but she wouldn’t do this.”
“What about Charles?”
Claire stared at the floor.
“I don’t know anymore.”
An officer carried out the paper from the door inside an evidence bag.
Claire suddenly frowned.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She looked toward her bedroom.
“My father’s box.”
“What box?”
“The documents my biological father left me.”
She ran toward the bedroom before I could stop her.
The closet shelf was empty.
Claire turned around.
Her face went white.
“They took it.”
“What was inside?”
She looked at me.
“Trust documents.”
I felt the pieces moving into place.
“How much is the trust worth?”
May you like
Claire whispered the answer.
“Twenty-four million dollars.”
