Chapter 1 - The Paper Trail of Betrayal
The morning sun filtered through the windows of my office,
but the warmth did not reach the cold dread pooling in my stomach.
I sat at my desk,
the one made of reclaimed oak from our first repair shop,
and stared at the documents I had pulled from the security drive.
Camille arrived at my house at ten o'clock,
her eyes rimmed with red and her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her cardigan.
She didn't wait for me to offer her tea;
she simply sat on the edge of the sofa and began to shake.
"Mom,
I found the ledger in Brennan’s study while he was in the shower,"
she whispered,
her voice barely audible over the ticking of the clock.
"He used my name to open a shell company called Blue Lantern Logistics."
"He forged my electronic signature on a loan from a private equity firm."
"The debt isn't nine million anymore,
Mom."
"With the interest and the penalties he’s hidden,
it’s over twelve million dollars."
I felt a surge of cold fury that made my vision blur for a second.
My daughter,
the woman who had studied art history and wanted nothing more than to bring beauty into the world,
was being turned into a human shield for a coward’s financial ruin.
"He told me it was just a standard business diversification,"
she continued,
a tear finally escaping and rolling down her bruised cheek.
"He told me that if I didn't sign the physical backups,
he would lose the family factory."
"He said his mother,
Darlene,
would have a heart attack if they went bankrupt."
"So I signed the last few pages,
Mom."
"I thought I was saving them."
I knelt in front of her,
taking her cold hands in mine.
"You didn't save them,
Camille,"
I said,
each word a vow.
"You provided them with a victim."
"They intentionally placed the entire weight of their failures on your shoulders,"
"so that when the company inevitably collapsed,"
"you would be the one the banks came for."
"They wanted to stay rich while you went to prison."
Camille looked at me,
horrified by the realization.
"But we don't have twelve million dollars,
Mom."
"Your shop...
the workshop is successful,
but it's not enough to cover this."
I squeezed her hands,
feeling the weight of the secret I had kept for years.
"Don't worry about the money,
Camille."
"Tomorrow is the Kincaids' traditional Sunday lunch."
"They invited me to discuss 'family matters,'
didn't they?"
Camille nodded,
confused by the sudden hardness in my eyes.
"Good,"
I said,
standing up.
May you like
"We are going to give them exactly what they want."
"We are going to talk about business."
