Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail of Lies
The police arrived,
took a statement,
and left a lingering scent of ozone and authority in the hallway.
I spent the next hour watching the locksmith I had hired—a real one—repair the damage Harrison had done.
Once the door was secure and the deadbolt turned,
I retreated to my home office.
Harrison’s parting words kept echoing in my mind,
bouncing off the walls of my skull like a trapped bird.
"Something that belongs to the company."
I sat at my mahogany desk,
the very desk my father had left me before he passed away six years ago.
My father,
Arthur Bennett,
had been a quiet man,
a silent investor who had helped the Voss family build their empire from the ground up.
He had always told me that Harrison was a "shark in a sheep's skin,"
but I had been young,
in love,
and blinded by the Voss glamour.
I began to dig through the bottom drawer of the desk,
a place I hadn't touched since the wedding.
I pulled out a thick,
dusty folder labeled Arthur Bennett – Personal Holdings.
Inside were standard life insurance policies,
deeds to small properties,
and old bank statements.
But as I reached the very back,
I found a hidden compartment,
a false bottom made of thin cedar.
I pried it up with a letter opener,
my breath hitching in my throat.
Inside lay a small,
blue velvet book and a flash drive.
I opened the book,
finding it filled with my father’s meticulous,
tiny handwriting.
The first page read:
For Claire – If you are reading this,
I hope it is because you are finally free of them.
I felt a tear prick my eye,
but I wiped it away,
my focus sharpening on the numbers that followed.
It wasn't a diary.
It was a ledger.
A ledger of every "loan" Arthur Bennett had given to Harrison's father,
Julian Voss.
But these weren't loans.
They were equity swaps.
According to the ledger,
my father didn't just invest in Voss Global;
he owned forty-nine percent of it.
And that ownership was held in a trust that was meant to be transferred to me upon the dissolution of my marriage.
I stared at the page,
my mind reeling.
Forty-nine percent.
That would make me the single largest shareholder in the company.
I realized then why Harrison had been so desperate to get into the penthouse.
He wasn't looking for Patricia’s jewelry.
He was looking for this ledger.
The divorce papers had been finalized yesterday,
which meant the trust had been triggered.
But I hadn't received any notification from the Voss attorneys.
They were hiding it.
They were trying to steal my inheritance before I even knew it existed.
I plugged the flash drive into my computer,
and a series of scanned documents appeared.
Original stock certificates.
Signed contracts.
And a video file.
I clicked play.
My father’s face appeared on the screen,
looking tired but determined.
"Claire,"
he said,
his voice a ghostly rasp.
"The Voss family is built on a foundation of sand and my money."
"They will try to trap you,
to keep you small,
so you never look at the books."
"Don't let them."
The video ended,
leaving me in the heavy silence of the morning.
May you like
I wasn't just a divorcee anymore.
I was a threat.
