Chương 6
Gavin saw that too and looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
I pushed past him.
He followed me downstairs but did not try to stop me at the door.
At the curb, I opened the rideshare app.
My hands were shaking now.
Not because of Gavin.
Because he had found the one question I did not want to ask.
Why had Dad trusted me with ownership but not with knowledge?
The car arrived eight minutes later.
I sat in the back and watched our house disappear behind traffic.
Halfway to Midtown, a message appeared from an unknown number.
Nora, this is Camila.
I know you have no reason to believe me, but Gavin lied to both of us.
A second message arrived before I could decide whether to answer.
Please don’t meet Margaret alone.
Then came a photograph.
It showed a printed spreadsheet lying on a desk.
Across the top were the words VANCE TRUST VOTING STRUCTURE.
In the upper corner, handwritten in blue ink, were three initials I recognized from a thousand birthday cards, grocery lists, and notes tucked into my lunch when I was a child.
They were my father’s.
Underneath them, in Gavin’s handwriting, was a date from six months before Dad died.
I enlarged the photograph until the handwriting blurred.
The date was March 14, three years ago.
Dad died September 2.
Six months.
I stared at the numbers until the rideshare driver asked whether I was all right.
“Yes.”
He nodded at the mirror and turned the radio lower without being asked.
I typed one sentence to Camila.
Where did you get this?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
From Gavin’s private office drawer.
I typed again.
When?
Last night.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
You were with him after I left.
Yes.
The honesty of it irritated me more than a lie would have.
Another message came.
I was looking for my passport too.
I almost threw the phone into my purse.
Then the final sentence appeared.
He has mine.
I read that twice.
The car stopped at a red light.
A cyclist slapped the hood of a taxi beside us and shouted something I could not hear through the glass.
The city kept operating with rude confidence.
I typed.
Why would Gavin have your passport?
No answer.
Then.
He said we might need to leave quickly if the board investigation got ugly.
My chest tightened.
Where were you planning to go?
Switzerland first.
Then maybe Dubai.
I laughed once under my breath.
The driver glanced at me again.
“Bad morning?”
“You could say that.”
“My wife says every bad morning is just a morning that hasn’t gotten expensive yet.”
I looked at the meter on his dashboard.
“Your wife sounds practical.”
“She’s terrifying.”
That made me smile despite myself.
Then Camila sent another image.
It was a photograph of a dark blue passport open to the identification page.
Her passport.
Beneath it lay a business-class itinerary from New York to Zurich departing the following evening.
Gavin’s name appeared on the second reservation.
My mouth went dry.
I saved both photographs.
The driver pulled to the curb in front of a limestone building with no Summit Crest logo and no obvious financial branding.
Margaret’s office occupied the seventh floor.
A receptionist led me into a conference room where three people were already waiting.
Margaret Sloan stood first.
She was older than I expected, perhaps sixty, with silver hair cut at her jaw and the posture of someone who had spent decades listening to wealthy people lie politely.
Beside her sat a woman in a navy suit and a younger man with a laptop.
“Nora,” Margaret said.
She offered her hand.
Her grip was warm and dry.
“This is Dana Cho, independent counsel retained by the trust, and Marcus Hale, our forensic accounting consultant.”
I looked at the empty chair.
“You invited a forensic accountant?”
“After the access attempt this morning, yes.”
Dana gestured toward the chair across from them.
“You are not required to speak with us without personal counsel.”
“I don’t have personal counsel.”
“We can pause until you obtain one.”
“No.”
I sat.
“If I pause, Gavin gets more time.”
Dana and Margaret exchanged a glance.
I noticed it.
“What?”
Margaret folded her hands.
“There is something we need to establish before we go further.”
“Whether I’m legally entitled to control the trust?”
“No.”
Her expression softened.
“Whether you are physically safe.”
I almost said yes automatically.
Then I thought of Gavin gripping my wrist in the office.
The locked door.
The custody threat.
His request for the letter.
The missing passport in Camila’s message.
“I don’t know.”
Dana nodded once.
“That’s a more useful answer than yes.”
I hated how close that came to kindness.
Kindness made me feel fragile.
I opened my purse and placed my father’s letter on the table.
Margaret looked at it but did not touch it.
“He wanted me to call you.”
“He did.”
“Why didn’t anyone call me?”
She sat back.
“Because he prohibited us from doing so.”
My fingers tightened around the purse strap.
“That makes no sense.”
“I argued with him.”
“Good.”
Margaret almost smiled.
“He was stubborn.”
“Yes.”
“He believed you would refuse the responsibility if it arrived while you were grieving.”
I looked down at the letter.
“That sounds like something he would tell himself.”
“It is.”
The answer came too quickly to be diplomatic.
Margaret leaned forward.
“He loved you very much, Nora, but he was capable of paternalism.”
The word stung because it was accurate.
Dad had taught me to change a tire but refused to tell me when he was having chest pains.
He respected my judgment right up until he decided protecting me was more important than consulting me.
“What exactly do I own?”
Marcus rotated his laptop toward me.
“Beneficially, you are the sole successor beneficiary of the Vance Family Trust.”
A chart showed corporate entities connected by lines.
May you like
At the bottom sat Summit Crest Group.
“The trust directly and indirectly controls just over fifty-one percent of voting shares.”
