Chapter 3 - I Discovered Why Adrian Vale Had Been Hunting Vanessa Crowe for Years
The following morning, I woke to the sound of someone knocking.
When I opened my eyes, sunlight was spilling through the enormous windows.
For a few seconds, I forgot where I was.
Then I remembered.
Adrian Vale.
Vanessa Crowe.
The ledger.
Ethan.
I sat up immediately.
"Come in."
Mrs. Bennett entered carrying a breakfast tray.
"Good morning, Miss Bennett."
"Good morning."
She placed the tray on the table.
"Mr. Vale asked me to tell you that he expects you downstairs at ten."
I glanced at the clock.
It was nine fifteen.
"What happens if I don't come?"
Mrs. Bennett smiled gently.
"Then I imagine he'll come upstairs himself."
I almost smiled.
After breakfast, I showered and changed into the only clean clothes I had brought with me.
A cream sweater.
Black trousers.
Flat shoes.
My usual uniform.
I pinned my hair back and put on my glasses.
Then I went downstairs.
Adrian was waiting in his office.
He had changed into a dark suit and was standing beside a large table covered with documents.
A second man was sitting near the window.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and looked to be in his early forties.
"Clara," Adrian said. "This is Marcus Reed. He handles security."
Marcus nodded.
"Miss Bennett."
I sat down.
Adrian placed a folder in front of me.
"Tell us what you know about Vanessa's shipments."
I opened the folder.
For the next two hours, I explained everything.
The suspicious containers.
The falsified invoices.
The missing customs declarations.
The payments made to shell companies.
The strange transfers that had appeared in the company's accounting system.
Marcus took notes while Adrian listened without interrupting.
When I finished, Adrian leaned back.
"How did you discover all of this?"
"By doing my job."
"You're telling me you found an international smuggling network by checking invoices?"
"Not exactly. I found the first discrepancy because a container weighed eight thousand pounds more than its manifest claimed."
"And you investigated?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
He looked at Marcus.
"She's either extraordinarily brave or extraordinarily reckless."
"Probably both," I muttered.
Marcus chuckled.
Adrian didn't.
Instead, he opened another folder.
Inside were photographs of a woman in an expensive red dress.
Vanessa Crowe.
She was beautiful in the way expensive paintings were beautiful.
Perfect hair.
Perfect makeup.
Perfect clothes.
And eyes that seemed to promise that she would destroy anyone who embarrassed her.
"She started working with my father twenty years ago," Adrian said.
I looked up.
"Your father?"
"Richard Vale."
I'd heard of him.
He had built one of Chicago's largest shipping empires before dying under mysterious circumstances.
Adrian continued.
"Vanessa's family supplied cargo handling services. Over time, they became deeply involved in our operations."
"Then she took over?"
"After my father died."
His voice was quiet.
I noticed the tension in his jaw.
"How did he die?"
Adrian looked at me.
"An explosion at one of our warehouses."
I felt a chill.
"Was Vanessa responsible?"
"We never proved it."
"But you suspect her."
"I suspect everyone who benefited from his death."
The room fell silent.
I looked down at the documents.
For the first time, I understood that this wasn't merely a business dispute.
Adrian had lost someone.
And Vanessa had apparently taken advantage of it.
"Why didn't you tell the police?" I asked.
"I did."
"And?"
"They closed the investigation."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because the evidence disappeared."
I stared at him.
Then something clicked.
"The same way the shipment records disappeared?"
Adrian nodded.
"Exactly."
I looked at the documents again.
Suddenly, the numbers seemed more important than ever.
There was a pattern.
A sequence of payments that appeared every three months.
Each transfer was made through a different company.
But all the companies had one thing in common.
They were registered to addresses belonging to the same property management group.
I pointed to the page.
"Who owns this building?"
Marcus leaned forward.
"Which one?"
"This address."
He studied the document.
Then his expression changed.
"That's the Crowe family headquarters."
I looked at Adrian.
"Vanessa has been using her own office to launder money."
"Apparently."
"No," I said slowly. "Not just her office."
I pulled another document from the folder.
"Look at these transfers. They're all connected to a charity."
Adrian frowned.
"What charity?"
"The Chicago Children's Foundation."
Marcus stood.
"That's impossible."
I shook my head.
"Look at the account numbers."
Adrian took the document from me.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he reached for his phone.
"Find out everything about that foundation."
Marcus nodded and left.
I stared at the remaining documents.
Something about the numbers bothered me.
I had seen them before.
Not in the ledger.
Somewhere else.
Then I remembered.
A photograph.
A photograph of my father standing beside Richard Vale at a company event.
My father had worked in shipping for nearly thirty years before retiring.
He had died when I was twenty-two.
And shortly before his death, he had warned me about Vanessa Crowe.
I had dismissed his concerns as paranoia.
Now I wasn't so sure.
"Clara?"
Adrian's voice brought me back.
I looked up.
"Do you know something about the foundation?"
"No."
But I was lying.
I remembered my father telling me that certain people in Chicago had become rich by stealing from children.
At the time, I thought he was talking about ordinary corruption.
Now I wondered whether he had known exactly what was happening.
Adrian studied my face.
"You're hiding something."
I stood.
"I need to make a phone call."
"To whom?"
"My aunt."
He didn't stop me.
But as I walked toward the door, I heard him say something that made me freeze.
"Clara, if your father knew Vanessa, there's a chance he was involved in this."
I turned slowly.
"My father wasn't a criminal."
"I didn't say he was."
"Then don't suggest it."
Adrian held my gaze.
"Find out what he knew before Vanessa does."
For the rest of the day, I couldn't stop thinking about my father.
And that evening, when I finally called my aunt, she told me something that changed everything.
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My father had left a sealed envelope with my name on it.
And she had been waiting six years for me to ask for it.
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