Chapter 5
The digital clock on the mahogany wall read midnight. The sterile hum of the hotel’s air conditioning system provided a steady backdrop to the heavy silence in the conference room. Clara had not touched the glass of water poured for her an hour ago. The initial shock had given way to an analytical coldness; the lawyer's daughter in her was waking up, demanding facts over emotion.
"You mentioned corporate sabotage," Clara said, breaking the silence as she slid the police report aside. "You said someone tampered with the brakes of the car four years ago. Who?"
Julian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes darting toward the window that overlooked the rain-slicked city streets below. "Our uncle, Richard Vance. When our father passed away, control of Vance Industries was split between Ryan and me. But Richard wanted full executive power. He engineered the hostile takeover of the board, and when we started asking questions about the missing pension funds, our brakes failed on a mountain pass."
Ryan nodded slowly, confirming his brother’s account with a grim expression. "Julian is right about that much, at least. Richard wanted us both out of the picture. When I woke up from my coma two years later, Richard had already taken over as CEO, and I was a ghost without a social security number, a bank account, or a legal existence. It took me two years of crawling out of the dark, working odd jobs under the table, just to piece together enough evidence to prove who I am."
"And tonight?" Clara asked, narrowing her eyes. "Why did you show up here, at this hotel, at this exact moment?"
Ryan reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sleek, encrypted flash drive, placing it carefully on the table. "Because Richard’s new CFO booked a private suite in this exact hotel for a secret transaction tomorrow morning. Julian’s signature—or rather, my signature forged by Julian—was used to authorize a multi-million-dollar asset transfer that signs away the last of our family’s holdings to Richard's shell company. I tracked Julian here to stop it."
Julian stared at the flash drive in disbelief. "I didn't authorize any asset transfer. I cut ties with Vance Industries the day I met Clara. I haven't looked at a corporate document in four years."
"Your digital signature was used, Julian," Ryan countered sharply. "Which means someone in your suburban home—or someone tracking your digital footprint—has been using your credentials. Or rather, my credentials."
Clara’s breath caught in her throat. The suburban house. Their quiet, secluded home on the edge of the woods, where Julian worked from his home office on his private laptop. A cold wave of dread washed over her.
"Your home office," Clara whispered, her eyes widening in sudden horror. "The secure server in your study. You always told me it was locked for architectural client confidentiality."
May you like
Julian’s face drained of what little color remained. "It's encrypted. Only my thumbprint can access the main terminal."
"Or someone with access to your security tokens," Ryan said grimly. "Richard knows you're alive, Julian. He's known for months. And he's been using your stolen life to drain everything we own."
