Chapter 3 - THE DAUGHTER OF THE WOMAN MY FAMILY DESTROYED"You have been cooking in my house for ten months, knowing my family might have been involved in your mother's death?"
Grace didn't flinch.
"Yes."
One word.
No apology.
No excuse.
Just the truth.
I stared at her while the accusation echoed through my mind.
Clara Ellis.
I remembered that name now.
Not clearly, but enough.
Twelve years earlier, there had been a terrible fire at a storage building near Savannah's industrial waterfront.
Two people died.
One was a night security employee.
The other was a contracted accountant working on records for the Marsh Point Relief Trust.
I vaguely remembered my father telling me the investigation had found evidence of improperly stored chemicals and an electrical fault.
There had also been rumors about missing documents.
Those rumors eventually disappeared.
At the time, I was twenty-six, spending most of my life between Atlanta and New York, trying to prove I could build a career without relying entirely on the Reed name.
I had never asked many questions.
Now I wondered whether that had been the easiest kind of cowardice.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
Grace's eyes filled with something more complicated than sadness.
"Would you have hired me?"
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
She nodded slowly.
"Exactly."
Eli stepped forward.
"Mr. Reed, she didn't come here to hurt you."
Grace raised a hand.
"Let me speak for myself."
She looked at me.
"When I was seventeen, two police officers came to our apartment and told me my mother was dead."
Her voice remained steady, but I could see how much effort it cost her.
"Three days later, a local newspaper published an article suggesting she had been under investigation for financial misconduct."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Was she?"
"No."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because she had been collecting evidence against the people stealing from that fund."
Grace glanced at the envelope in my hand.
"My mother believed money raised for struggling families should actually reach those families. She kept asking why contractors were getting paid for houses that still had holes in their roofs."
She folded her arms.
"Then she started receiving threats."
"From whom?"
"She never told me."
"Why?"
"Because she thought protecting me meant keeping me ignorant."
For a moment, her voice faltered.
"The last thing she said to me was that she'd be home in time to help me study for my chemistry exam."
Grace looked away.
"She never came home."
I wanted to reach for her.
Instead, I remained where I stood.
I had no right to assume she wanted comfort from me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She nodded once.
"Thank you."
Leah shifted on the bed.
"Grace didn't know whether Mr. Reed was involved. I contacted her because I found her mother's name in an old audit index."
I turned toward Leah.
"You knew about Clara?"
"Only from the documents."
She hesitated.
"I started working at Cross Civil Works six years ago. Three months ago, I was assigned to reconcile historical project payments before an outside review."
"What outside review?"
"A bank compliance audit connected to the Marsh Point redevelopment project."
She pointed toward the envelope.
"I found transactions between companies that supposedly had no connection to one another. I also found invoices submitted years after the work was allegedly completed."
"And you traced them to Victor?"
"To companies he controlled."
I sat in the chair beside the window.
Victor Cross had eaten Thanksgiving dinner at my house.
He had helped me choose my first car.
He was the man I called when I needed advice after my father died in 2019.
I had trusted him.
"Why would Victor steal from the same charity my father helped establish?" I asked.
Leah watched me with exhausted eyes.
"Because charity funds can move through complicated accounts, and people don't always question familiar names."
I studied the document again.
"Do you have proof that the money reached Victor?"
"Some. I still need the original banking records to prove the complete chain."
"Then why risk your life?"
"Because I found another payment last month."
I looked up.
"Another payment?"
"The theft didn't stop in 2014. The same shell companies have been receiving money through new public redevelopment contracts."
My thoughts raced.
A new waterfront project was scheduled to break ground in six weeks.
Reed Properties was one of the development partners.
Victor had insisted the investment was a once-in-a-generation opportunity.
I remembered signing preliminary paperwork without examining every subcontractor.
Suddenly, I felt sick.
"How much money is involved now?"
Leah shook her head.
"I don't know yet."
Eli checked the window.
"We should move her before more people arrive."
He was right.
Vivian knew there was someone in the room.
And judging by Leah's reaction, that knowledge frightened her.
I stood.
"Eli, lock the cottage. Grace, take Leah to the clinic for her appointment. I'll arrange a lawyer and a secure place for her to stay."
Grace looked skeptical.
"You expect us to trust your arrangements?"
"No," I answered. "I expect you to decide what help you want. But I won't leave her without options."
That seemed to surprise her.
I turned toward Leah.
"One more question. Did you recognize the person who forced your car off the road?"
She closed her eyes.
"I heard a voice."
"Whose?"
"I don't know his name."
"Describe him."
"Older. Southern accent. He had a rough voice. He called the other man Shaw."
My blood chilled.
"Garrick Shaw?"
Leah's eyes opened.
"You know him?"
Of course I knew him.
Garrick Shaw had been Victor Cross's private security director for more than a decade.
A broad-shouldered former contractor with a permanent scar across his chin.
He had attended dozens of events at my estate.
If Shaw was involved, this was no random accident.
I stepped into the hallway and pulled out my phone.
A new message was waiting.
It was from Vivian.
Don't forget breakfast. We still need to talk.
I stared at the screen.
Then I opened the estate's security application.
Every vehicle entering the property passed through an electronically controlled gate.
Guest access was recorded.
I selected the previous night's logs.
At 2:11 a.m., the main gate had opened for an unidentified vehicle.
The access authorization appeared beneath the timestamp.
GUEST CREDENTIAL: VIVIAN CROSS.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Vivian had told me she spent the entire night in bed.
Yet someone had used her credentials to let a vehicle onto my property.
I scrolled farther down.
The same vehicle had exited at 2:19 a.m.
Eight minutes.
Long enough to search a cottage.
Long enough to plant something.
Long enough to make sure the wrong people knew where Leah was hiding.
I called the security desk.
"Marcus, who entered my property at 2:11 this morning?"
The guard hesitated.
"Sir?"
"Check the record."
A few seconds passed.
Then Marcus answered.
"A black SUV, Mr. Reed."
"License plate?"
"It was obscured."
"Who was driving?"
"Couldn't see. The windshield was tinted."
"Why did you allow it through?"
"Miss Cross had granted access from her guest pass. We assumed she was expecting someone."
My heart began pounding.
"Did the driver approach the house?"
"No, sir."
"Then where did the vehicle go?"
Marcus paused.
"Toward the staff cottage."
I turned slowly.
Through the kitchen window, I could see Vivian standing beside the breakfast counter.
She was wearing a white robe now, pouring herself coffee as though nothing unusual had happened.
She looked up.
Our eyes met.
Then she smiled.
My phone vibrated again.
A message from an unfamiliar number appeared.
You should have stayed out of this, Nathan.
Before I could react, another message arrived.
It contained a photograph.
Grace, Eli, and Leah.
All three standing in the cottage doorway less than ten minutes earlier.
Someone was watching us.
I looked toward the trees beyond the swimming pool.
Nothing moved.
May you like
Then a third message appeared.
"Tell your cook to stop asking questions about her mother—or she'll end up exactly where Clara Ellis did."
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