Chapter 5
The security footage showed a man standing outside my office.
He wore a dark suit and carried a black leather briefcase.
I didn't recognize him immediately.
Then Celia leaned toward the screen.
"That's Preston Vale."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
She looked at Angela.
"Julian's private attorney."
I stared.
"Julian has a private attorney?"
Angela nodded slowly.
"Most people involved in significant business transactions do."
I swallowed.
"But why would he send him to my office?"
Dad replayed the footage.
Preston showed a temporary credential to the security guard.
The guard checked the authorization.
Then refused access.
Preston argued.
He pointed toward the office.
Then used his phone.
A few minutes later, he left.
I watched the recording twice.
My hands shook.
"He wanted something."
Dad nodded.
"Apparently."
Angela remained careful.
"We need to establish whether he had a legitimate reason to be there."
I looked at her.
"With a credential issued through Julian?"
She nodded.
"That raises questions."
Dad called the security director.
The credential had been requested using an account associated with one of Julian's former business assistants.
That account should no longer have had access.
The company immediately suspended it.
I felt cold.
For years, Julian had joked that my father ran his business like a fortress.
Now I was grateful.
Because someone had tried to enter my office.
And the only reason they failed was that a security guard followed the rules.
Dad turned toward me.
"Nia, do you want to check your documents?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
We drove to headquarters that afternoon.
I'd grown up visiting that building.
My mother helped design its lobby.
She chose the marble floors.
The warm lighting.
The enormous mural of Atlanta's skyline.
After she died, Dad kept her office exactly as she'd left it.
When I turned twenty-five, he gave it to me.
Now it was my office.
My place.
And someone had tried to enter without permission.
I walked inside.
The room looked undisturbed.
My mother's photograph stood beside the computer.
A small vase of white roses rested near the window.
I went straight to the locked drawer.
The key was still in my handbag.
I opened it.
Inside were folders.
Old shareholder statements.
Letters.
A copy of Mom's will.
Then I noticed something strange.
The folder marked ORIGINAL TRUST AMENDMENTS was missing.
My stomach dropped.
"Dad."
He approached.
"What?"
I stared into the drawer.
"Something's gone."
Angela stepped closer.
"What?"
I swallowed.
"The trust amendments."
Dad frowned.
"When did you last see them?"
I tried to remember.
Two weeks earlier.
I'd opened the folder while preparing for a meeting about the company's charitable foundation.
Julian had been with me.
He'd asked whether I still had the old estate papers.
I'd shown him the drawer.
My chest tightened.
"He knew where they were."
Dad looked devastated.
Angela asked me to identify exactly what was missing.
I described the folder.
She made notes.
Then suggested we review the office access history.
The security director examined the logs.
Three days earlier, Julian had entered the office with me.
He stayed behind for several minutes after I left for another meeting.
I remembered.
He said he needed to make a phone call.
I had trusted him.
The thought made my stomach twist.
We couldn't prove he'd taken the folder.
Not yet.
But the timing frightened me.
Angela asked the company to preserve the relevant camera footage.
Then she contacted the estate's record custodian to obtain certified copies.
I looked at Dad.
"Can the missing folder hurt us?"
He shook his head.
"Your mother's estate documents exist in more than one place."
I exhaled.
He continued.
"She was careful."
I smiled through tears.
"She always was."
Mom had been a lawyer before she helped build the company.
She believed important documents should never depend on one person's memory.
As a teenager, I thought she worried too much.
Now I wished I could hug her.
That evening, I returned to Dad's house.
I sat in the garden beside the rosebush Mom planted when I was ten.
I remembered her teaching me how to cut the stems.
"Don't pull the flower apart because one thorn hurts you," she said.
At the time, I laughed.
Now the words felt different.
I had spent three years trying to save my marriage.
Trying to prove I deserved Julian's love.
Trying to convince Evelyn I was good enough.
But every effort made me smaller.
And the harder I tried, the more they demanded.
I closed my eyes.
Then Dad came outside.
He sat beside me.
"Thinking about your mother?"
I nodded.
"Yeah."
He smiled sadly.
"She'd be furious about what happened."
I laughed through tears.
"She would've marched straight into that penthouse."
Dad chuckled.
"Probably."
Then his expression softened.
"But she'd also remind you that your future is yours to choose."
I swallowed.
"Even if that means divorce?"
Dad looked at me.
"Especially then."
I started crying.
Because I hadn't dared say the word aloud.
Divorce.
It sounded final.
Terrifying.
Like admitting everything I'd built had failed.
Dad took my hand.
"Nia, ending a relationship that harms you isn't failure."
I looked at him.
He continued.
"Sometimes it's the first honest decision you've made in a long time."
I leaned against his shoulder.
For several minutes, we sat quietly.
Then my phone rang.
Julian.
I stared at the screen.
Dad didn't tell me what to do.
I answered.
"Hello?"
Julian sounded calm.
Too calm.
"Nia, we need to talk."
I swallowed.
"Through our attorneys."
He sighed.
"You're really going to destroy three years of marriage over one argument?"
My chest tightened.
"One argument?"
He continued.
"You know my mother can be difficult."
I closed my eyes.
"You forged a document using my name."
Silence.
Then he whispered, "You don't understand the pressure I'm under."
I opened my eyes.
"Then tell the truth."
Julian's voice hardened.
"If you don't come home, you'll regret it."
I felt cold.
"What does that mean?"
He paused.
Then laughed bitterly.
"Ask your father how much he's willing to lose."
The line disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Dad noticed my face.
"What happened?"
I told him.
His expression changed.
Then Angela called.
She had received an urgent message from the company's finance department.
A lender was asking whether Carter Hospitality intended to guarantee Evelyn's development debt.
Dad stood.
"We never agreed to that."
Angela's voice was serious.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"Then why are they asking?"
She paused.
"Because someone submitted documents indicating the company's approval."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Julian wasn't only trying to control my shares.
May you like
He was trying to pull my father's entire company into Evelyn's financial disaster.
And the deadline for the proposed guarantee was tomorrow.
