Chapter 3 - THE FILE CLARA COPIED
The flash drive contained forty-seven files.
Nathaniel opened the first.
Invoices.
The second.
Wire transfers.
The third.
Shell-company registrations.
By the fifth, his stomach had turned.
David Royce had been moving money.
Not thousands.
Millions.
Vaughn Capital funds flowed through consulting companies Nathaniel had never approved.
Several belonged to David.
Two were registered to Camille.
Nathaniel looked up.
Camille sat across from him in the study.
David stood near the window.
“How much?”
David said nothing.
Nathaniel opened the spreadsheet Clara had created.
Thirty-two million dollars.
Camille inhaled sharply.
Nathaniel turned.
“You didn’t know the total.”
Her expression betrayed her.
That mattered.
“David told you less.”
Camille’s face hardened.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Clara could have fabricated those files.”
Nathaniel laughed.
“She copied bank confirmations.”
“She’s a maid.”
“Housekeeper.”
Camille stared.
Nathaniel leaned forward.
“Never call her that again as if it means stupid.”
David finally spoke.
“I can explain.”
“Good.”
Nathaniel looked at him.
“You have thirty seconds.”
David sat.
“The acquisitions were real.”
“Through companies you own?”
“They were temporary holding structures.”
“Why is Camille receiving transfers?”
Silence.
Nathaniel turned toward her.
“Camille?”
She stood.
“I don’t have to sit here and be interrogated.”
Nathaniel looked at her engagement ring.
“No.”
His voice stayed calm.
“You don’t.”
She froze.
“You can leave.”
Her face changed.
“Nathaniel.”
“The wedding is postponed.”
“Nathaniel.”
“Until I know what happened to Clara.”
Camille laughed bitterly.
“So this is about her?”
“It is about thirty-two million dollars and a missing employee.”
“You came home because you were spying on me.”
“Security cameras in my own house are not spying.”
“You watched private moments.”
“I watched you make a woman kneel on a floor because you disliked your coffee.”
Camille went pale.
Nathaniel continued.
“I watched you throw away her food.”
Her mouth opened.
“I watched you send her into the rain without an umbrella.”
David looked at his sister.
Apparently he had not known that part.
Nathaniel stood.
“And then I came home and discovered she found evidence that you and your brother have been stealing from me.”
Camille’s face twisted.
“You think she matters more than me?”
Nathaniel stared.
“That question is the problem.”
She stopped.
“This is not a competition.”
For the first time, Camille looked afraid.
Then Nathaniel’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No voice.
Just breathing.
“Clara?”
A whisper.
“Mr. Vaughn?”
Nathaniel stood instantly.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“My head.”
His jaw tightened.
“Who took you?”
She began crying.
“I think the driver drugged me.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes briefly.
“You’re safe. Stay on the phone.”
“I found the ledger.”
“I know.”
“I copied everything.”
“I know.”
“Mr. Vaughn…”
“Yes?”
“They weren’t only stealing.”
His pulse changed.
“What else?”
“They were paying someone.”
“Who?”
Clara’s voice lowered.
“A doctor.”
Nathaniel frowned.
“What doctor?”
“The one who treated your wife before she died.”
The room went silent.
Nathaniel’s late wife, Sarah, had died eight years earlier after a sudden neurological illness.
He had never connected her death to Vaughn Capital.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“What was the doctor’s name?”
She whispered:
“Dr. Alan Royce.”
Nathaniel looked at Camille.
Her face had gone completely white.
May you like
Royce.
Her father.
