Chapter 12 - THE MAN WHO CLAIMED MY FATHER LIED
Ethan Hsu looked nothing like an enemy.
That made me trust him even less.
He was forty, maybe forty-two.
Dark suit.
No tie.
No entourage.
He walked into my office carrying one leather folder and absolutely no fear.
Mei remained beside me.
Our general counsel sat near the windows.
Security waited outside.
Ethan noticed all of it.
“You came prepared.”
“I learned to.”
He smiled faintly.
“I’ve read about Victor.”
“Then you understand why unexpected men carrying mysterious folders don’t get coffee.”
“Fair.”
He sat.
I remained standing.
“Start talking.”
Ethan opened the folder.
“My father and yours founded the company together.”
“I know.”
“You learned that this morning.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because until this morning, your legal department had never requested Daniel Hsu’s original shareholder records.”
Mei leaned forward.
“You’re monitoring us?”
“I’m monitoring Northstar.”
“Why?”
“Because it belongs to me.”
He pushed a document across the table.
Daniel had transferred his twelve-percent position into Northstar Holdings before his death.
According to Ethan, those shares had never legally been sold.
They had been hidden.
Frozen.
Then diluted through multiple restructurings.
Our lawyer began reading.
His face grew increasingly serious.
“Where did you get these?”
“My father’s safe.”
“Why wait twenty-two years?”
“Because I didn’t have the key.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“What key?”
Ethan looked directly at my desk.
At the small brass key beside my wedding photograph.
My father’s key.
My hand moved instinctively toward it.
“How do you know about that?”
“My father had one too.”
He removed something from his pocket.
Another brass key.
Almost identical.
Mei whispered, “What the hell?”
Ethan placed it on the table.
“Our fathers shared a private archive.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
I laughed once.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I know the keys open two separate locks. I know both are required. And I know my father spent his final years believing your father destroyed him.”
“My father would never—”
“I know.”
The anger disappeared from his face.
“That’s why I’m here.”
He pulled out another document.
A letter.
My father’s handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
Daniel,
If you receive this, then someone has succeeded in separating us.
Do not sign anything.
Do not trust the board.
And whatever they tell you, I did not authorize the transfer.
My knees almost weakened.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father kept it.”
“Then why did he believe mine betrayed him?”
“Because he received another letter three days later.”
Ethan showed me that one.
Same handwriting.
Same signature.
Completely different message.
Daniel,
Your position has become a liability.
I have exercised the agreement allowing me to remove you.
Do not contact my family again.
I stared at the signature.
It looked perfect.
But it wasn’t my father.
I knew the rhythm of his handwriting.
The way he crossed his t’s.
The strange backward curl in his capital D.
“This is forged.”
“I know.”
Our attorney looked up.
“How?”
Ethan’s expression hardened.
“Because I found the man who forged it.”
The room went still.
“Who?”
“He died last month.”
Of course.
Nothing was ever easy.
“But before he died,” Ethan continued, “he gave me one name.”
My phone vibrated.
Shiaoza.
Dinner still seven?
Normal life.
Four ordinary words.
For a second, I desperately wanted to stay inside that ordinary world.
Then Ethan slid a photograph across my desk.
I recognized the man immediately.
Arthur Vale.
Board member.
Seventy-one.
Elegant.
Respected.
He had attended my second wedding.
He had hugged me after my father died.
He had once called me “the daughter this company needed.”
Arthur had been on our board for twenty-eight years.
“He arranged the forged letters,” Ethan said.
I shook my head.
“That makes no sense. What did he gain?”
Ethan closed the folder.
“Control.”
“He never controlled the company.”
“No.”
Ethan looked at me.
“He controlled the people who did.”
My phone rang.
Arthur Vale.
The timing was so perfect that everyone stared at the screen.
I answered.
“Arthur.”
“Lin.”
His familiar grandfatherly voice filled the room.
“I heard legal is reviewing some very old documents.”
I looked at Ethan.
He looked back.
“Yes.”
Arthur sighed.
“You should leave the dead buried.”
My blood went cold.
“Why?”
A pause.
Then his voice changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“Because your father learned what happens when you open doors that were locked for a reason.”
The call ended.
Ethan leaned back.
“Well?”
I slowly placed the phone down.
“You wanted my attention.”
“You have it.”
“No.”
I looked at the two brass keys.
“You have something better.”
May you like
“What?”
“My cooperation.”
