Chapter 4 - THE FATHER I BURIED TWELVE YEARS AGO
My father had been dead for twelve years.
I had attended his funeral.
I had watched the casket disappear beneath frozen Colorado ground.
So when Daniel said my father was paying Ava Monroe, I thought he had finally lost his mind.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Daniel glanced toward Rachel’s house.
“Can we talk somewhere private?”
“No.”
“Charlotte.”
“You don’t get privacy anymore.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Your father created a trust before he died.”
I folded my arms.
“I know. It paid for part of my college.”
“Not that trust.”
My pulse quickened.
“What trust?”
Daniel reached into his jacket and removed an envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of a financial document.
Hawthorne Legacy Trust.
Beneficiary: Charlotte Anne Bennett Reeves.
Current estimated value: $18.7 million.
I stared at the number.
“This is fake.”
“It isn’t.”
“I would know if I had eighteen million dollars.”
“Apparently, you weren’t supposed to know until you turned forty.”
“I’m thirty-six.”
“I know.”
“Why would Ava care?”
“Because the trust owns something besides investments.”
I looked up.
Daniel’s expression was grim.
“Shares.”
“In what?”
“Meridian.”
My stomach dropped.
“That’s impossible.”
“When your original ownership was restructured, your father quietly bought some of the shares sold to early investors.”
“How many?”
“Enough that, combined with your current stake, you may be the largest beneficial shareholder in the company.”
The sidewalk seemed to tilt beneath me.
“Who told you?”
“Ava.”
I laughed once in disbelief.
“And you believed her?”
“She showed me documents.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Three months.
Three months of secrets.
Three months of him knowing my father had hidden ownership in our company.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Because she said the trust was under investigation.”
“For what?”
“Money laundering.”
I stared at him.
“That’s insane.”
“I thought so too.”
“Then?”
“She showed me bank transfers.”
“Real ones?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
My voice turned cold.
“So you decided to protect me by reducing my salary?”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I went still.
“What?”
Daniel looked away.
“Ava recommended shifting compensation structures before the next financing round. I agreed to an executive review. I didn’t specifically order your salary cut.”
“The document had your approval.”
“I signed a batch electronically.”
The excuse was pathetic.
But suddenly another possibility emerged.
Ava had not merely influenced Daniel.
She had used his arrogance against both of us.
“Did you sleep with her?” I asked.
Daniel flinched.
“Charlotte.”
“Yes or no.”
“No.”
I watched his face carefully.
This time there was no three-second pause.
No hesitation.
“I kissed her once,” he said.
The honesty hurt more than the lie would have.
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“After the investor dinner.”
“Did you stop it?”
“Yes.”
“Because you remembered you were married?”
His face tightened.
“Because the second it happened, I knew exactly what I was destroying.”
“You destroyed it long before you kissed her.”
“I know.”
That answer robbed me of the satisfaction of attacking him.
I hated that.
I hated him a little too.
Maybe more than a little.
But there were bigger problems now.
“Why did you say my father was paying Ava?”
Daniel pointed toward the document.
“The Hawthorne Trust has been sending money to Monroe Strategic.”
“That couldn’t be my father. He’s dead.”
“Exactly.”
Someone was controlling a trust connected to my father.
Someone was using that trust to pay the woman who had infiltrated Meridian.
Someone wanted me out of the company.
That evening, Benjamin helped me obtain historical trust records.
My father had established Hawthorne Legacy four months before he died.
Trustee: Andrew Bennett.
My uncle.
My father’s younger brother.
The man who had delivered the eulogy at his funeral.
The man who had hugged me beside the grave and promised, “I’ll always look after you.”
I hadn’t spoken to Uncle Andrew in almost three years.
We had never been close.
He lived in Santa Fe, invested in commercial real estate, and sent Christmas cards printed by an assistant.
I called him.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Charlotte.”
“Uncle Andrew.”
A pause.
“This is unexpected.”
“I found Hawthorne Legacy Trust.”
Silence.
Then a soft exhale.
“I wondered when that would happen.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“You knew?”
“Of course.”
“You’re the trustee.”
“Technically.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Your father left specific instructions.”
“To hide eighteen million dollars from me?”
“To protect you from becoming dependent on money before you learned what you were capable of building.”
I almost laughed at the irony.
“What about the Meridian shares?”
Another pause.
“Charlotte, where are you getting this information?”
“Answer me.”
His voice changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
“Those shares were meant as insurance.”
“Against what?”
“Daniel.”
The answer surprised me.
Then Andrew added, “Your father never trusted your husband.”
“They barely knew each other.”
“He knew enough.”
I looked across Rachel’s dark living room.
“Did you hire Ava Monroe?”
Andrew went silent.
That silence told me everything.
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because Meridian was moving toward a transaction that would have wiped out your hidden ownership.”
“What transaction?”
“I can explain in person.”
“No. Explain now.”
“You’re emotional.”
“I’m becoming extremely tired of men telling me what I am.”
“Charlotte—”
“Did you hire Ava?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“To protect me?”
“At first.”
The two words chilled me.
“At first?”
Andrew exhaled.
“Things became complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Ava stopped following instructions.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
Andrew’s next answer changed everything.
“Daniel.”
Before I could respond, another call came through.
Benjamin.
I ignored Andrew and answered.
Benjamin sounded breathless.
“Charlotte, I found something in the old incorporation files.”
“What?”
“A sealed amendment your father insisted I keep confidential unless ownership was challenged.”
I stood.
“What does it say?”
“It says Meridian was never Daniel’s company.”
May you like
A pause.
“It was yours.”
