Chapter 4 - Twenty-Four Hours
By evening, footage of the courthouse arrest had spread across every local news station.
The attacker’s shouted warning played repeatedly beneath headlines connecting Arthur Holloway to Harrison Drake’s bribery investigation.
Arthur issued a statement denying any criminal relationship with Drake.
No one believed him.
Holloway Construction’s stock in its privately traded investment fund dropped eighteen percent before the markets closed. Two government agencies suspended contract payments. The company board called an emergency meeting.
Arthur blamed me.
His message arrived at 6:03 p.m.
You have destroyed everything Dad built.
I stared at the words until anger replaced fear.
My father had built the company.
Arthur had married into it.
He had spent a decade rewriting that history until even he believed the lie.
I responded for the first time.
My father built it. You stole from it.
Arthur called immediately.
Victoria advised me not to answer, but Lucas wanted the conversation recorded.
I pressed the button.
Arthur did not greet me.
“What did you give the police?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Teresa, listen carefully. You don’t understand who these people are.”
“Then explain it.”
“You froze accounts that don’t belong to you.”
“Half the company belongs to me.”
“The money in those accounts is committed.”
“To shell vendors?”
“To obligations.”
“Bribes?”
He went silent.
I could hear traffic behind him and the sharp rhythm of his breathing.
“Where is Ethan?” he asked.
“Safe.”
“I want to speak to him.”
“You can speak to him through the court-approved schedule.”
“I’m his father.”
“Then start behaving like one.”
“Do you think Victoria can protect you? Do you think some private investigator with a hero complex can stop what’s coming?”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed.
Arthur knew his identity.
“How do you know about Lucas?” I asked.
Another silence.
Then Arthur lowered his voice.
“Bring me the photograph and everything Simon gave you.”
“What happened to Simon?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m trying to save your life.”
“No. You’re trying to save yourself.”
A crash sounded on Arthur’s end of the call.
He swore.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
A man’s voice spoke in the background.
“You have until tomorrow.”
The line disconnected.
Lucas immediately attempted to trace the location, but Arthur had used a temporary phone.
“He’s not alone,” I said.
“No,” Lucas replied. “And he may not be acting freely anymore.”
I should have felt sympathy.
Instead, I remembered Arthur humming as he entered our empty house carrying jewelry for Genevieve.
Whatever danger he faced, he had invited it into our lives.
At eight, Holloway Construction’s board sent me formal notice of an emergency meeting scheduled for the next morning.
As a fifty-percent shareholder, I had the right to attend.
Victoria wanted me to appear remotely.
I refused.
Arthur had controlled the narrative for too long.
The meeting took place on the thirty-second floor of Holloway Tower. Security officers inspected the building before we arrived.
Every board member was present.
Some had known me since childhood. Others had joined after Arthur became chief executive and slowly pushed me away from the company.
Arthur’s chair remained empty.
Genevieve sat near the far end of the table, wearing a red dress and no wedding ring.
She looked perfectly composed.
The board chairman, Malcolm Pierce, cleared his throat.
“Teresa, the company is facing an immediate liquidity crisis due to the frozen accounts.”
“The accounts were frozen because they contain evidence of fraud.”
“That has not been established.”
“I can establish it.”
I distributed copies of the transfers I had traced.
Over three years, seventeen million dollars had moved from Holloway Construction through shell companies controlled by Genevieve’s brother, Conrad Vance.
From there, the money split into consulting payments, offshore transfers, and political donations.
Genevieve barely glanced at the documents.
“These are preliminary records,” she said. “Teresa doesn’t understand the current corporate structure.”
I almost laughed.
“I understand it well enough to know your brother’s landscaping company received four million dollars for structural engineering.”
Several board members shifted uncomfortably.
Genevieve smiled.
“Conrad’s company expanded.”
“Into bridges?”
Her smile disappeared.
Malcolm turned to the company’s general counsel.
“Were these vendors approved?”
The attorney hesitated.
“Some approvals contain Mr. Holloway’s electronic authorization.”
“Some?” I asked.
He swallowed.
“Others contain yours.”
The room went still.
He placed six contracts on the table.
My digital signature appeared on every page.
I had never seen them before.
Genevieve leaned back.
“Perhaps Teresa’s memory problems are worse than we realized.”
Victoria stood.
“These signatures are fraudulent.”
“Can you prove that?” Genevieve asked.
“Yes,” I said.
Every face turned toward me.
The contracts were dated during a week when I had been hospitalized with pneumonia. Arthur had brought documents to my room, claiming they were insurance forms.
I had signed two papers.
Not six.
But that was not the proof.
“My father designed the original authorization system,” I said. “Every shareholder signature creates a hidden verification code based on the signer’s device.”
The general counsel looked confused.
Arthur had modernized the visible software but never understood the legacy system beneath it.
I connected my laptop to the conference-room display.
The contracts appeared on the screen.
Each carried my signature.
Each verification code traced back to Arthur’s office computer.
Someone had copied my signature and submitted the contracts from his desk.
A board member whispered, “Dear God.”
Genevieve stood.
“This meeting is over.”
“No,” Malcolm said. “Sit down.”
She turned toward the door.
Lucas stepped into her path.
“You are not law enforcement,” she said.
“No. But the federal agents waiting in the lobby are.”
For the first time, genuine fear crossed her face.
Victoria had contacted the federal prosecutor after the courthouse attack. The forged contracts and financial records gave investigators enough cause to execute warrants.
Agents entered the boardroom.
They seized computers, company servers, and Genevieve’s phone.
But they did not arrest her.
Not yet.
As she passed me, she leaned close enough that only I could hear.
“You think Arthur chose me because I was younger?”
I held her gaze.
“He chose you because you told him what he wanted to hear.”
“No, Teresa. I chose him.”
She smiled again.
“And before this is over, your son will learn exactly what his father did to your father.”
I grabbed her arm.
“What did you say?”
An agent separated us.
Genevieve continued walking.
“What did Arthur do to my father?” I shouted.
She did not answer.
That afternoon, Lucas and I drove to the storage facility containing the company’s original archives.
The lock on the unit had been cut.
Inside, shelves stood empty.
Decades of paper records were gone.
Only one object remained on the floor.
My father’s old leather ledger.
Its pages had been burned.
Lucas examined the ashes.
“Someone was here recently.”
I bent down and noticed a small piece of paper beneath the ledger’s cover.
Most of it was charred, but three handwritten words remained visible.
Arthur changed medication.
My father had died from a sudden heart attack twelve years earlier.
May you like
Arthur had been the last person with him.
And until that moment, I had never questioned why.
