Chương 7
"No."
Rebecca raised an eyebrow.
I continued.
"But I know I need to."
She nodded.
That was one reason I trusted her.
She never tried to make difficult choices sound easy.
"Daniel sent over the corporate records from Prescott Group," she said.
"He did?"
"He requested copies of anything connected to your original investment."
I looked down.
Daniel moving that quickly surprised me.
"He thinks there may be more."
"More?"
"More transfers."
The room became quiet.
I opened the first file.
For the next two hours, we worked through numbers.
Not emotions.
Numbers were easier.
Numbers did not lie because they were uncomfortable.
They simply existed.
The original funding agreement was clear.
My family trust had provided emergency capital.
The patent rights were secured through a separate agreement that protected the intellectual property contribution.
Nothing had been hidden.
Nothing had been stolen.
But there was something unusual.
A later amendment.
Signed eighteen months after the initial investment.
I stared at the signature page.
Aaron's signature was there.
So was mine.
Except I did not remember signing it.
I read the date again.
Then again.
"What is it?" Rebecca asked.
"I don't know."
That was the first time all morning I felt something close to fear.
Not because of what the document said.
Because of what it meant.
My signature was attached to something I did not remember.
I reached for my phone.
I almost called Aaron.
Then I stopped.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I needed facts before feelings.
I called Daniel instead.
He answered on the second ring.
"Please tell me you found something boring."
His attempt at humor sounded forced.
"I found something I don't remember signing."
The silence was immediate.
"Send it to me."
I photographed the document and sent it.
A minute passed.
Then two.
When Daniel called back, his voice had changed.
"Where did you get this?"
"My records."
"Who has access to your records?"
"Only my trust office."
Another pause.
"Alyssa, this amendment changed the structure of the ownership arrangement."
I looked at Rebecca.
"What kind of change?"
"It gave Aaron more control over certain decisions involving the patents."
My stomach tightened.
"Why would I sign that?"
Daniel did not answer immediately.
"I don't know."
That was worse.
Daniel always had answers.
Even when they were unpleasant.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we need to verify the signature."
The words settled slowly.
"You think it might not be mine."
"I think we need to check."
I ended the call and stared at the desk.
The strange thing was that I did not immediately feel betrayed.
Not completely.
I felt confused.
Because betrayal required certainty.
This was something else.
A missing piece.
A door I had not known existed.
Rebecca watched me carefully.
"Do you want to stop?"
I looked at the document.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
For years, I had protected Aaron because I believed the truth would hurt him.
Now I wondered how many truths had been kept from me for the same reason.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a news alert.
A business reporter had published an article about Prescott Group.
The headline was simple.
The company's future leadership was under review after an unexpected dispute involving the CEO's family.
I read it twice.
The article did not mention me by name.
Not yet.
But it was already spreading.
Aaron had always feared losing control of the story.
Now the story was moving without him.
A second message appeared.
From Aaron.
Please don't do this publicly.
I stared at the screen.
The words were almost identical to what I expected.
Not please forgive me.
Not I understand.
Please don't do this.
Still focused on the damage.
Still focused on consequences.
I typed a response.
Then deleted it.
I typed another.
Deleted that too.
Finally, I wrote only one sentence.
I am not the one who made this public.
I sent it.
A few seconds later, the message showed as read.
No reply came.
I looked out my father's office window.
The city was waking up below.
People were going to work.
Cars were moving.
Coffee shops were opening.
Somewhere across Manhattan, Aaron Prescott was probably sitting in a room full of advisers trying to understand how the woman he underestimated had become the one person he could not control.
But control was never what I wanted.
That was the part he never understood.
I did not want his company.
I did not want his name.
I did not want to watch him fall.
I wanted the truth to exist.
And for the first time in years, I was willing to let it.
I could not ignore the tension that had settled over Bennett Holdings.
It followed me through the day like a second shadow.
Employees who had known me since I was young moved carefully around conversations.
People did not know the details yet.
They only knew something involving Aaron Prescott and me had shifted.
That was enough to make everyone nervous.
Powerful companies were built on confidence.
The appearance of stability mattered almost as much as stability itself.
By noon, I had already received three calls from people who had never contacted me directly before.
Former executives.
Investors who remembered my father.
People who suddenly remembered that Bennett Holdings existed.
That was how the world worked.
When you were quiet, people assumed you had nothing to say.
When you spoke, everyone wondered why they had not listened earlier.
I hated that part.
I hated that my value seemed easier for people to recognize when there was a conflict attached to it.
Rebecca noticed my expression while reviewing another file.
"You don't like this."
I looked up.
"Like what?"
"Being noticed."
I leaned back in the chair.
"No."
She nodded.
"I figured."
"Why?"
"Because you spent years making sure everyone else looked good."
The comment was not meant as criticism.
That almost made it harder to hear.
May you like
I closed the folder.
"My father used to tell me something."
