Chapter 10 - FRAMED
By morning, the story had leaked.
Not the whole story.
Just enough.
A financial news site published a headline:
SUCCESSION CHAOS AT COLE-WHITMORE AS MILLIONS VANISH.
By lunch, another headline appeared.
NEW SUCCESSOR LINKED TO OFFSHORE ENTITY.
My picture was everywhere.
The same people who had whispered about me at the gala now had new material.
“She set him up.”
“Maybe Marcus was right.”
“How convenient she inherits shares and suddenly becomes successor.”
I sat in Harrison’s office reading comments until Dana took my phone away.
“Stop.”
“They think I stole it.”
“People online think the moon landing was fake.”
“This is different.”
“No. It’s louder.”
Harrison had gone home.
Daniel wasn’t answering calls.
Federal investigators had seized his office computer.
Marcus had hired a criminal defense attorney.
Vanessa had disappeared from public view.
And my name was attached to a fake shell company.
Perfect.
Dana sat across from me.
“We can prove you didn’t create it.”
“How?”
“Digital signatures. IP logs. Banking records.”
“How long?”
She didn’t answer fast enough.
“Dana.”
“Longer than the media cycle.”
I leaned back.
“So until then, I’m guilty.”
“No.”
“In public?”
She said nothing.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice.
“You should have stayed away from the company.”
My body went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You don’t belong there.”
I stood.
Dana watched me.
“Who is this?”
The caller laughed softly.
“You’re just like Helen.”
Then the line went dead.
Dana was already moving.
“What did they say?”
I told her.
Her face changed at Helen’s name.
“Only a few people knew Helen was involved with the company trusts.”
“How few?”
“Harrison. Thomas. Daniel. Two attorneys.”
“And Marcus?”
“Not officially.”
My phone buzzed again.
This time, a text.
A photograph.
Aunt Helen standing outside an office building.
Taken years ago.
Under it:
SHE SHOULD HAVE WALKED AWAY TOO.
I stopped breathing.
Dana grabbed the phone.
“Oh my God.”
“Was Helen threatened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was her death really cancer?”
Dana stared at me.
“No. Don’t go there.”
“I’m asking.”
“She was sick for a year.”
“That doesn’t mean nobody threatened her before that.”
Dana called Harrison.
No answer.
She called again.
Nothing.
Then another message arrived.
An address.
A storage facility outside the city.
Unit 418.
Beneath it:
ASK WHAT YOUR AUNT KEPT.
Dana shook her head.
“We are not going.”
I looked at her.
“Yes, we are.”
“No. This is how people end up dead in bad movies.”
“She left something.”
“Then we call the police.”
“And wait while whoever sent this empties the unit?”
Dana stared at me.
I grabbed my coat.
She cursed.
Then grabbed hers.
“You are a terrible influence.”
Twenty minutes later, we reached the storage facility.
Unit 418 was locked.
But there was an envelope taped to the door.
My name was written across it.
Rebecca.
Inside was a key.
Dana whispered, “I really hate this.”
I opened the lock.
The door rolled up.
The unit was almost empty.
One metal filing cabinet.
One old desk.
One cardboard box.
And on the desk sat a recorder.
A red light blinked.
May you like
Recording.
Someone had been waiting for us.
