PART4

She inhaled sharply.

“Don’t play games. I’m Tessa.”

“Right. Landon’s girlfriend.”

“His future wife.”

The words landed strangely.

Not because they hurt as much as they once would have.

Because they sounded like a threat delivered by someone who had no idea what she was threatening.

“Well,” I said, “congratulations.”

“Don’t you dare mock me.”

“I’m not.”

“Landon told me that after the divorce, everything would be settled. He said the card was part of his compensation for supporting your business all these years.”

I looked at my father.

His face became completely still.

“His compensation?” I repeated.

“Yes. He said you owed him. He said your company wouldn’t be where it is without him.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Landon had attended a few company dinners. He had accompanied me to conferences. He had introduced himself to people I had spent years building relationships with.

But he had never worked for my company.

He had never managed an employee, signed a legitimate business contract, or taken responsibility for a financial decision.

And yet, somewhere along the way, he had begun telling people that my success belonged to him.

“Tessa,” I said carefully, “I don’t know what Landon told you. But you should ask him for written proof of any compensation he believes he is owed. My company has records of its employees, contracts, and authorized expenses.”

She went quiet.

Then she said, “He told me you would do this.”

“Do what?”

“Try to ruin him because he left you.”

I stared at the wall.

There it was.

The story he had prepared.

I was the bitter ex-wife. The controlling businesswoman. The woman who couldn’t accept that her husband had chosen someone younger.

It was a convenient story because it made every question about his behavior look like revenge.

“I’m not trying to ruin Landon,” I said. “I’m protecting what belongs to my company.”

“Same thing.”

“No. It isn’t.”

I ended the call.

My father waited until I set the phone down.

“She believes him,” I whispered.

“Perhaps.”

“What if everyone does?”

He reached across the table and took my hand.

“Then the records will have to speak louder than the rumors.”

For the first time that evening, I felt something other than anger or fear.

I felt a small, stubborn determination.

Landon had spent years telling me that I was too emotional to understand business.

He had mistaken my patience for ignorance.

He had mistaken my kindness for weakness.

And tomorrow, we were going to find out whether he had made an even more expensive mistake.

The next morning, I arrived at my office before sunrise.

The building stood in Midtown Manhattan, a glass-and-steel tower with a lobby that smelled faintly of polished stone and fresh coffee. I had bought my first small office in the city eleven years earlier, when my company had been nothing more than six employees, two rented rooms, and a stack of contracts I kept in a filing cabinet beside my desk.

Now Bellhaven Holdings managed commercial properties, private investments, and several operating businesses.

It had taken years of long nights, careful decisions, and sacrifices I rarely discussed.

Landon had been there for the celebrations.

He had not been there for the sleepless nights when a major tenant threatened to leave, or when a project nearly collapsed because a contractor disappeared with the deposit.

He had been there for the photographs.

Not for the work.

My assistant, Olivia, was waiting by the elevators.

When she saw me, she looked relieved.

“Harper, thank goodness. Your father called me last night.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He said there might be a security issue and that I shouldn’t delete or alter anything related to the company’s financial records.”

“Good. Has anyone contacted you about a payment to Northbridge Advisory?”

Her expression changed.

“Yes.”

My stomach tightened.

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon. A man called and said he was following up on an urgent payment approval. He claimed you had already discussed it with him.”

“Who was the man?”

“He introduced himself as Richard Cole.”

I didn’t recognize the name.

“What did he want?”

“He said the company had provided consulting services and that the invoice was overdue. He was very insistent. When I told him I couldn’t approve a payment without the proper documentation, he asked to speak to you directly.”

“Did you transfer him?”

“No. I asked him to email the invoice and contract. He sent both, but something seemed wrong.”

“What seemed wrong?”

Olivia opened her tablet and showed me the email.

The invoice was professionally designed. The language was polished. The amount was clearly stated.

But the registered business address belonged to a mailbox service in Delaware.

The consulting agreement carried my electronic signature.

And the signature date was a Saturday when I had been attending a conference in Chicago.

I remembered the trip clearly. I had spent that weekend in a hotel ballroom listening to presentations about commercial property financing.

I had not signed a consulting agreement.

“Did you reply?” I asked.

“I asked for additional documentation. He hasn’t sent anything else.”

“Thank you. Preserve the email, the attachments, and the call notes. Don’t contact him again unless our attorney instructs you to.”

Olivia nodded.

My father arrived ten minutes later with Daniel Ross, a forensic accountant he had worked with on several complex investigations.

Daniel was in his fifties, with silver at his temples and the calm expression of someone who had learned not to let surprising numbers surprise him.

He shook my hand.

“Ms. Bell, your father gave me the initial details. I’ll need access to the relevant accounting records, authorization logs, and banking notifications. We’ll work from copies and preserve the originals.”

“Can you tell me whether the signature is genuine?”

“Not yet. An electronic signature can be copied, improperly applied, or legitimately authorized and later disputed. We’ll examine the audit trail and the circumstances surrounding the approval.”

His careful answer made me trust him.

For the next several hours, we reviewed records.

At first, the evidence appeared limited to the suspicious payment request.

Then Daniel found a series of small transfers.

They were scattered across eighteen months.

Four thousand dollars here.

Eight thousand there.

Seventeen thousand to a company providing vague administrative services.

Thirty-two thousand to a marketing agency that had never worked for Bellhaven Holdings.

The amounts were small enough to escape immediate attention amid the company’s ordinary expenses, but together they formed a disturbing pattern.

“Were these approved by you?” Daniel asked.

I studied each entry.

“I don’t remember approving any of them.”

“Do you recognize the recipient companies?”

“No.”

He made notes.

“We need to establish whether these were actual services, duplicate invoices, or unauthorized payments. Some may have legitimate explanations. We shouldn’t assume every unusual transaction is fraudulent.”

My father nodded.

“Agreed.”

I looked at the spreadsheet.

“How much are we talking about?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART5…