Chapter 8 - THE COMPANY SHE OWNED WITHOUT KNOWING
I owned twenty-one percent of Solstice Holdings.
Apparently.
Not because my father made me rich secretly.
Because Anthony Steves used my name as a nominee beneficiary after my father died.
Why?
Insurance.
If investigators traced the company, ownership pointed toward the dead accountant’s daughter.
A scapegoat.
I felt sick.
The interest had remained dormant.
No distributions directly to me.
But legally, documents suggested I had benefited from years of criminal revenue.
Thomas knew.
That explained everything.
The gala.
Recognition.
His obsession with whether I had the key.
If he needed someone to absorb liability, I was already built into the structure.
Larkin looked furious.
“This ends.”
“How?”
“We transfer—”
“No.”
He stopped.
Good.
“Nothing gets transferred until independent counsel understands it.”
“Yes.”
Sarah handled it.
Forensic accountants traced Solstice.
Hotels.
Event companies.
Real estate.
Consulting.
Some legitimate.
Some contaminated.
My supposed twenty-one percent had theoretical value above twelve million dollars.
I did not celebrate.
Dirty money is not freedom.
Then we found the clause.
If Penelope Woods voluntarily relinquished interest, her shares reverted to controlling manager.
Thomas Steves.
There.
He needed my signature.
If I disappeared or died?
Shares transferred to a trust.
Also controlled by Thomas.
Either way, he won.
Unless I challenged ownership as fraudulent.
That became the plan.
But first, we needed proof I had never accepted or exercised control.
Easy.
I had been twenty when documents were signed.
Signature looked like mine.
I had no memory.
Then Sarah discovered the notary.
Thomas Steves.
He notarized my supposed signature at age twenty-three.
Could he?
Yes, legally commissioned at the time.
Did he actually witness it?
No.
I was in Boston that date.
University attendance records proved it.
Forgery.
Finally, something clean.
Then Thomas called Larkin.
Not me.
Larkin put it on speaker with counsel present.
Thomas sounded amused.
“You found Solstice.”
Larkin said:
“Yes.”
“You always were slow.”
“Why Penelope?”
“Because her father cost ours millions.”
There.
Not business.
Revenge inherited.
Thomas continued:
“My father spent years cleaning up Joseph’s mess.”
“Your father murdered him.”
Silence.
Then Thomas laughed.
“Prove it.”
We could maybe.
Then he said:
“And even if you do, Penny still owns the company.”
He called me Penny.
My father’s name for me.
Rage climbed my throat.
“How do you know he called me that?”
Thomas went quiet.
I understood.
He had seen more of my father’s files than we knew.
Then:
“Where is the rest?”
“What rest?”
“Joseph’s final notebook.”
I looked at the black notebook from Box 711.
We had it.
Thomas did not know.
Good.
I said:
“Maybe I burned it.”
Silence.
Then:
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe.”
Thomas’s voice changed.
Cold.
“You spent three years making yourself invisible. Smart.”
Pause.
“But your father did the same thing.”
Then:
“It didn’t save him.”
Call ended.
Larkin reached for his phone.
I stopped him.
“What?”
“You’re about to send men.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“He threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So we use evidence.”
His eyes darkened.
“He killed your father.”
“Maybe.”
“He threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to do nothing?”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“I want you to do something harder.”
“What?”
“Let him think we’re afraid.”
That was the first moment Larkin Steves looked at me not like a secretary, a witness, or a woman he needed to protect.
May you like
He looked at me like a partner in a strategy.
And that was exactly what Thomas never expected.
