Chapter 2 - The Office Her Father Had LockedBy the time Khloe reached Harrison Logistics headquarters, she was wearing Roman Casso’s black overcoat over her engagement gown and a pair of borrowed restaurant shoes two sizes too large.
She hated both facts.
She hated needing anything from him.
But she hated the sight waiting on the forty-first floor more.
Her father’s office had been destroyed.
Desk drawers hung open.
Books had been pulled from shelves.
The framed photograph of Khloe and Michael at her college graduation lay facedown on the carpet.
A wall safe behind an abstract painting stood open.
Empty.
Khloe walked inside slowly.
“No.”
Roman remained near the doorway.
Vincent stood behind him with two security men.
Khloe turned.
“Where is building security?”
“Your fiancé dismissed the overnight team at 10:18.”
“Can he do that?”
Roman answered, “He’s CFO.”
Khloe laughed bitterly.
“Of course he can.”
She crossed toward the safe.
Her father had taught her the combination when she was sixteen.
For emergencies, peanut.
Michael Harrison had called her Peanut until the day she graduated college.
Khloe touched the cold metal.
“What was inside?”
She knew.
Original stock certificates.
Estate documents.
Her father’s handwritten corporate journals.
And a small blue ledger he had used since the company’s earliest years.
Roman stepped closer.
“Anything related to ownership?”
“Yes.”
“Then we assume that’s what Derek wanted.”
Khloe turned toward the desk.
Something looked wrong.
Not missing.
Wrong.
Her father’s brass compass.
It still sat beside the lamp.
Michael had carried it for twenty-five years.
He called it his lucky compass, even though Khloe had never once seen him use it to navigate anything.
Why would Derek leave it?
Khloe picked it up.
The bottom felt uneven.
She frowned.
Then twisted the base.
A small compartment opened.
Inside was a brass key.
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“You knew about that?”
“No.”
Attached to the key was a tiny paper tag.
In her father’s handwriting were three words.
FIRST PROMISE. LOWER LEVEL.
Khloe’s breath caught.
“The first warehouse.”
“What?”
“My father started Harrison Logistics with one warehouse in Brooklyn.”
Roman looked at Vincent.
“Get the car.”
Khloe immediately shook her head.
“I’m coming.”
“I assumed you were.”
“I’m not asking permission.”
Roman’s mouth almost curved.
“I noticed.”
Forty minutes later, they stood inside a warehouse beside the East River that Harrison Logistics had stopped using for daily operations nearly a decade earlier.
Khloe remembered roller-skating here as a child.
Her father would pretend not to see while warehouse workers cleared a path between pallets.
The place smelled like dust, wood and cold metal.
FIRST PROMISE.
Khloe looked around.
Then she saw it.
Painted on the old office wall was Harrison Logistics’ original company motto.
EVERY DELIVERY IS A PROMISE.
Below it sat an ancient gray filing cabinet.
The brass key fit the bottom drawer.
Inside was a metal box.
Khloe opened it.
There were no stock certificates.
No cash.
No secret will.
Only a flash drive and a sealed envelope.
Her name was written across it.
KHLOE.
Her hands trembled.
Roman stepped away.
“This is yours.”
Khloe looked at him.
For the first time that night, she realized he was deliberately giving her privacy.
She opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter.
Peanut,
If you are reading this, then either I finally became dramatic enough to hide documents in warehouses, or something has gone very wrong.
Khloe laughed through a sudden burst of tears.
That was exactly how her father wrote.
She continued.
I discovered irregularities in the company accounts three months ago. I initially believed they were mistakes. They were not.
Someone has been manufacturing liabilities inside Harrison Logistics while moving real cash outside it.
I do not yet know everyone involved.
I do know Derek has lied to me.
Khloe stopped.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
Roman said nothing.
She read on.
I also know Aubrey has been receiving money she cannot explain. I want to believe there is an innocent explanation. Maybe that makes me foolish.
But being a father sometimes means hoping the evidence is wrong.
Khloe wiped her cheek.
There was more.
If anything happens to me before I finish this investigation, do not allow grief to make you obedient.
You own fifty-one percent of Harrison Logistics outright.
Not eventually.
Not after probate.
Now.
I transferred those shares into the Harrison Legacy Trust eighteen months ago, naming you as sole controlling beneficiary.
The certificates in my office are duplicates.
They have no controlling legal authority.
Khloe stared at the page.
“What?”
Roman looked over.
She read the paragraph again.
“I already own the company.”
Roman’s expression sharpened.
“What exactly does it say?”
She handed him the letter.
Roman read it.
Then he looked at her.
“Your fiancé doesn’t know.”
“He thinks the shares in the safe matter.”
“Apparently.”
Khloe felt the first small spark of something other than fear.
Derek had broken into her father’s office to steal worthless paper.
Roman returned the letter.
“There’s another page.”
Khloe unfolded it.
If Derek ever attempts to acquire your shares through Pierce Holdings, do not sign anything.
Pierce Holdings is not his real vehicle.
Find NORTHSTAR.
Then find RED HOOK 17.
The answer is there.
Khloe frowned.
“Red Hook 17.”
Roman went still.
She noticed immediately.
“You know what that means.”
Roman did not answer.
“Roman.”
He looked toward the warehouse windows.
“Red Hook 17 is a shipping terminal.”
“Owned by whom?”
A pause.
“Me.”
Khloe stared at him.
Her father had hidden a message directing her to Roman Casso’s property.
Roman seemed just as unsettled.
“When did you buy it?”
“Four years ago.”
“Did my father have business there?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Khloe stepped closer.
“Then why would he send me there?”
Roman looked down at the flash drive.
“Maybe that will tell us.”
They connected it to a secure laptop Vincent brought from the car.
There were fourteen folders.
Invoices.
Bank transfers.
Vendor contracts.
Copies of internal emails.
And one video file.
The date was two days before Michael Harrison died.
Khloe clicked it.
Her father appeared on-screen.
He sat behind his desk, looking exhausted.
But alive.
Khloe’s breath broke.
Michael looked directly into the camera.
“Khloe, if you’re watching this, I didn’t get the chance to tell you myself.”
She covered her mouth.
“I need you to understand something first. Harrison Logistics is not bankrupt.”
Khloe froze.
Roman leaned closer.
Michael continued.
“The numbers you have been shown are fraudulent.”
A spreadsheet appeared on-screen.
Michael explained that at least thirty-four million dollars in corporate debt had been fabricated through related-party contracts.
Fake debt.
Fake losses.
Fake emergency financing.
The company was not collapsing.
Someone had made it look as though it was.
Then Michael said the sentence that changed everything.
“The person who prepared these reports was Derek Pierce.”
Khloe closed her eyes.
She had known.
Some part of her had known since the courtyard.
Still, hearing her father say it felt like being cut open.
Michael continued.
“But Derek is not working alone.”
A document appeared.
Northstar Acquisition Group.
Below it were two beneficial owners.
Derek Pierce.
And another entity.
AH FAMILY INVESTMENTS.
Khloe whispered, “Aubrey Harrison.”
Roman nodded.
The video continued.
“I am meeting Derek tomorrow morning.”
Khloe’s heart began hammering.
Tomorrow morning.
The day her father died.
“I intend to terminate him and contact federal investigators.”
Roman slowly looked at Khloe.
Michael continued.
“If something happens before I do…”
The video suddenly froze.
Static filled the screen.
Then returned.
Michael looked closer to the camera.
“There is one more thing I haven’t told anyone.”
Khloe held her breath.
“The missing money isn’t the real target.”
Michael paused.
“The real target is Red Hook Terminal 17.”
Roman’s face became stone.
Khloe turned toward him.
Her father continued speaking.
“There is a ninety-nine-year transportation easement attached to the Harrison properties beside the terminal. If Harrison Logistics changes control, that easement can be reassigned.”
Khloe frowned.
Roman swore quietly.
“What does that mean?”
He looked at her.
“It means your father’s company controls access to seventy acres of waterfront land.”
“How much is that worth?”
“Today?”
Roman’s voice was almost grim.
“Probably more than Harrison Logistics itself.”
Khloe stared at the screen.
“How much?”
“Over a billion dollars.”
Silence filled the warehouse.
Derek had never been trying to steal a failing company.
He had been trying to steal a billion-dollar key hidden inside it.
The laptop chimed.
A new email had arrived on Khloe’s account.
From Derek.
Subject:
LAST CHANCE.
She opened it.
There was one sentence.
Your father tried to fight this too. Look how that ended.
Khloe stopped breathing.
Roman read the message over her shoulder.
Something terrifying happened to his expression.
Not anger.
Anger would have been easier.
This was colder.
He reached for his phone.
Khloe caught his wrist.
“No.”
Roman looked at her hand.
Then her face.
“You think I’m going to kill him?”
“I don’t know what you’re going to do.”
“Neither does Derek.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Roman stepped closer.
“He just threatened you.”
“And I need him talking.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
Khloe held up her father’s letter.
“If Derek thinks I’m afraid, he’ll keep making mistakes.”
“You are afraid.”
“Yes.”
She forced herself to breathe.
“But he doesn’t need to know that.”
Roman studied her for several seconds.
Then he lowered his phone.
For the first time, something resembling respect appeared in his eyes.
“What do you want to do?”
Khloe looked at Derek’s email.
Then at her father frozen on the laptop screen.
For six months, everyone had told her she was too young.
Too emotional.
Too grief-stricken.
Too inexperienced.
Her father had left her something none of them understood.
Not merely shares.
A choice.
Khloe straightened.
“I want to go home.”
Roman frowned.
“To the townhouse?”
“Yes.”
“That is exactly where Derek expects you to go.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
May you like
Khloe looked directly at him.
“Because I want him to believe he still knows me.”
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