Chapter 2 - What Nathaniel Left Behind
I found the recording just after one in the morning.
I hadn't meant to go looking. I'd only slipped down to Nathaniel's old home office — the one Edmund had never bothered to clear out — because I needed somewhere quiet to think, somewhere that still smelled faintly like my husband instead of like his family's cold hospitality. But behind a landscape painting on the far wall, I found a small wall safe standing slightly ajar, as if someone had opened it recently and forgotten to shut it properly.
Inside was a flash drive, three leather-bound notebooks, and an envelope with my name written on it in Nathaniel's handwriting.
My hands were shaking by the time I got the laptop open.
The video loaded slowly, and then there he was. My husband, gone eight months now, looking straight into the camera with dark circles carved deep under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in days.
"Vivian, if you're watching this," he said, his voice raw, "it means I wasn't able to stop them in time."
I pressed my hand over my mouth. Behind me, Milo shifted in his sleep on the small office sofa, wrapped in his blanket, blissfully unaware of what I was hearing.
"My brother isn't just running the company into the ground," Nathaniel went on, his voice trembling in a way I'd never once heard from him in life. "He's been bleeding the Ashworth estate dry for years to cover offshore debts nobody else knows about. Three weeks ago I found out he forged my signature on an international credit line. When I told him I was taking it to federal prosecutors, he told me—"
Nathaniel stopped. Swallowed hard.
"He told me accidents happen to little boys on quiet roads."
I felt something go cold and still inside my chest.
"That's why I set up the trust," he said. "That's why every voting share goes to you, Vivian, not to my father, not to Preston. Until Milo turns eighteen, you're the one with veto power over this entire company. Without your signature, they can't sell the ports. They can't liquidate anything. They can't cover what they've done."
He leaned closer to the camera, and for one second I could see exactly how frightened he'd really been.
"If anything happens to me, don't trust my family. Not my brother. Not my aunts. Not even my father — he knows what Preston's done, Vivian, but he's too afraid of the scandal to stop him. There's one person you can trust. His name is Silas Cole. He used to run corporate security for the company, until Preston tried to have him quietly removed. I got him out first. If he finds you — listen to him."
The screen went black.
I sat there in the dark for a long moment, the handkerchief and the recording suddenly making horrible, perfect sense together.
Silas Cole. The man on the bus.
I was still staring at the frozen black screen when the brass doorknob rattled behind me.
I slammed the laptop shut, grabbed the flash drive, and shoved the notebooks into my tote bag just as the door swung open.
Preston stood in the doorway, jacket gone, sleeves rolled, his crisp shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Whatever charming uncle mask he'd been wearing all day had slipped completely off his face.
"Working late, Vivian?" His voice was soft. Too soft.
"I was looking for a blanket for Milo," I said, keeping my voice level even as my pulse roared in my ears.
His eyes moved past me to the wall safe, hanging open where I'd left it. His jaw tightened.
"My brother always did love his little dramatics," he said, stepping further into the room. "He thought leaving you those shares would make you untouchable. All it really did was paint a target on your back."
"I'm leaving in the morning," I said, moving to plant myself between him and the sofa where Milo slept. "With my son. And I'm taking Nathaniel's will straight to our attorneys."
Preston laughed — short, humorless, cold. "You really think you're driving out of Thornfield tomorrow? Go look out that window."
I glanced past him toward the glass. Down the long driveway, two black SUVs sat parked across the front gate. Dark shapes moved slowly between them.
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"My father may have gone soft," Preston said, leaning back against the desk like he owned every square inch of the room, "but I run this house now. You're going to sign the transfer papers at breakfast tomorrow. Do that, and you and the boy get a very comfortable monthly check for the rest of your lives." His voice dropped, flat and final. "Don't, and you should know — Thornfield's got a lot of forest and even more lake. People go missing out here all the time."
He turned, walked out, and I heard the lock click into place from the outside.
