Chapter 4 - The Company That Shouldn’t Exist
Grace slept for two hours.
Not because she wanted to.
Because at one-thirty in the morning, Declan took the laptop out of her hands and said, “You are seven months pregnant, not a machine.”
She glared at him.
He did not care.
Arthur agreed.
Margaret agreed.
Even Martin Cole, calling from Calloway Meridian headquarters, told her the forensic team could work without her for a few hours.
Grace hated all of them for approximately thirty seconds.
Then her daughter kicked hard enough to make the decision for her.
At four-ten, Grace woke in the hotel suite.
The curtains were still open.
Moonlight silvered the ocean.
Her phone showed twenty-seven messages from Ethan.
She read none of them.
There were three messages from her obstetrician, who had been contacted by Grace’s assistant to make sure travel and stress were not creating unnecessary risk.
There was one from her best friend, Hannah.
CALL ME WHEN YOU’RE READY.
I DON’T NEED DETAILS.
I JUST NEED TO KNOW YOU’RE OKAY.
Grace stared at that one longer.
Then she placed the phone down.
The baby moved again.
Grace rested her palm over the movement.
“I’m okay.”
She wasn’t sure whether she was speaking to herself or her daughter.
At six, she was back in the conference suite.
Arthur arrived with coffee he knew she would not drink.
Declan arrived with oatmeal she had not requested.
Grace looked at it.
“Do billionaires usually deliver breakfast?”
“Only during hostile corporate collapses.”
“This is not a hostile collapse.”
“Good.”
He sat across from her.
“That would make the oatmeal awkward.”
Arthur entered before she could respond.
He carried a red file.
Grace immediately knew it mattered.
“What is it?”
“Prescott Legacy Technologies.”
Grace straightened.
Arthur placed the file on the table.
“The company was incorporated in Delaware nine years ago.”
“By my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why have I never heard of it?”
“You have.”
Grace frowned.
Arthur opened the first page.
“Originally it was called Prescott Research.”
Grace remembered.
A tiny internal innovation group.
Six engineers.
Her father had loved it because it allowed him to chase ideas the board considered impractical.
“He shut that down.”
“He announced he did.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
Grace looked through the documents.
“Who owned it after he died?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Richard transferred ninety percent into a private trust.”
“My trust?”
“No.”
“Then whose?”
Arthur pushed another page toward her.
The trust name was strange.
MORROW FAMILY HOLDINGS.
Grace read it twice.
“I don’t know what this is.”
“Neither did I.”
Declan looked up.
“That is unusual.”
Arthur nodded.
“I handled most of Richard’s estate.”
“Most?”
“He kept certain private matters with another attorney.”
Grace’s chest tightened.
“My father had another lawyer?”
“For specific trusts.”
“Who?”
Arthur turned the page.
Attorney of record: Samuel Morrow.
Grace stared at the surname.
“Morrow.”
“Yes.”
“As in Morrow Family Holdings.”
“Yes.”
“Who is Samuel Morrow?”
Arthur looked at Declan.
Declan’s face had gone very still.
Grace noticed.
“You know him.”
Declan waited.
“Declan.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He was my father’s attorney.”
Silence.
Grace looked from Declan to Arthur.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
Grace pushed back from the table.
“You told me you didn’t know my father well.”
“I didn’t.”
“But they shared an attorney?”
“My father and Richard were business partners once.”
Grace stood.
“When?”
“Before I was born.”
She stared at him.
“You knew this.”
“I knew they had invested together.”
“And Morrow?”
“I knew the name.”
“Did you know he controlled Prescott Legacy?”
“No.”
Grace looked at Arthur.
“Do you believe him?”
Arthur was careful.
“I have no reason not to.”
Grace laughed softly.
“That standard has not served me particularly well.”
Declan accepted the criticism without reacting.
Arthur continued.
“Samuel Morrow died four years ago.”
“Then who controls the trust now?”
“That’s the problem.”
“Why?”
“The successor trustee is unnamed in the public filings.”
Grace looked down at the twenty-two-million-dollar transfer.
“So Ethan was paying a hidden trustee for Atlas rights.”
“Possibly.”
“Find out who.”
“We’re trying.”
Grace closed the file.
“What about the ten percent outside the trust?”
Arthur flipped to another sheet.
“Owned by Richard personally.”
“And after he died?”
“That interest passed through the estate.”
“To me.”
Arthur’s silence returned.
Grace’s eyes narrowed.
“Arthur.”
“It should have.”
“But?”
“The asset does not appear on the estate inventory.”
Grace stared at him.
“How is that possible?”
“We don’t know.”
“You signed the inventory.”
“Yes.”
“You missed a company?”
“I did not know the company still existed.”
Grace began pacing.
“My father hid Atlas.”
“He hid Prescott Legacy.”
“He hid a trust.”
“He used another attorney.”
“And somehow Ethan found all of it.”
Declan leaned back.
“That may be the more important question.”
Grace stopped.
“How did Ethan know?”
Arthur closed the folder.
“Exactly.”
At seven-twenty, Ethan finally left the Halcyon Crown.
He did not go home.
He did not go to Calloway Meridian.
He drove north in a rented black SUV.
Vanessa followed in another car.
Grace knew because the security team Arthur hired sent photographs.
She watched Ethan’s vehicle leave the resort from her tablet.
Declan stood behind her.
“Do you recognize the route?”
“No.”
“Could be the airport.”
“He would take the highway west.”
Declan nodded.
“He’s going coastal.”
Grace zoomed in.
“We keep following.”
Arthur looked uncomfortable.
“Legally, we need to be careful.”
“They are public roads.”
“Yes.”
“Then be careful.”
At eight-fifteen, the vehicle stopped outside a private marina.
Grace looked at the live location.
“Why there?”
Declan leaned over.
“Boat access.”
“To where?”
“Several barrier islands.”
Arthur’s phone rang.
He answered.
Then covered the receiver.
“They’re boarding a charter.”
Grace stood.
“Can we follow?”
Declan was already typing.
“My helicopter can be airborne in twenty minutes.”
Arthur gave him a look.
“No.”
Declan glanced up.
“No?”
“You are not putting Grace in a helicopter to follow her husband across the Atlantic coast.”
Grace almost smiled.
“He has a point.”
Declan returned to his phone.
“Fine.”
“I’ll send someone else.”
Arthur looked at Grace.
“You two are disturbingly similar.”
“We are not.”
Declan said it at the same time.
Grace looked at him.
He looked at her.
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
At nine-ten, the surveillance team identified the destination.
A private island six miles offshore.
Owned through an LLC.
Grace read the name.
“Blue Heron Cay.”
Arthur searched his files.
“No direct Calloway connection.”
Declan searched from his own database.
“Wait.”
He turned the laptop.
Owner: Morrow Family Holdings.
Grace’s heartbeat quickened.
“There it is.”
Arthur stared.
“Ethan is meeting the trustee.”
“Maybe.”
Declan enlarged the satellite view.
One large residence.
A dock.
Two guest cottages.
No commercial buildings.
Grace leaned closer.
“Can we identify who lives there?”
“I’m checking.”
Within minutes, a name appeared.
Eleanor Morrow.
Age sixty-eight.
Widow of Samuel Morrow.
Grace frowned.
“The attorney’s wife.”
Arthur nodded slowly.
“She may be successor trustee.”
“Then Ethan is going there to close the Atlas purchase.”
“Possibly.”
Grace looked at the twenty-two-million-dollar transfer.
“Why twenty-two million?”
Declan answered.
“Too low for Atlas.”
“Exactly.”
“So he’s buying something else.”
Arthur’s expression tightened.
“Or paying for silence.”
That thought settled heavily over the table.
At nine-forty, Grace’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She looked at Arthur.
He nodded for her to answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice.
“Grace?”
Grace’s body went still.
“Yes.”
“My name is Eleanor Morrow.”
Arthur’s head snapped up.
Grace put the call on speaker.
“I know who you are.”
Eleanor exhaled shakily.
“Then I assume you know Ethan is here.”
Grace looked at Declan.
“Yes.”
“He thinks I called him.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No.”
Grace frowned.
“Then why did he come?”
“Because someone sent him a message from Samuel’s old account.”
Arthur whispered, “That account should be inactive.”
Grace kept her voice calm.
“Mrs. Morrow, are you safe?”
“For the moment.”
“Is Vanessa Reed with him?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor paused.
“She keeps asking about the ledger.”
Grace looked at Arthur.
“What ledger?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
“I don’t.”
Eleanor’s voice dropped.
“Samuel kept a handwritten record.”
“Of what?”
“Everything Richard asked him to protect.”
Grace’s pulse climbed.
“Where is it?”
“That is why I called.”
Grace waited.
Eleanor took a breath.
“Because it isn’t here.”
Ethan’s voice sounded faintly in the background.
“Eleanor?”
The older woman lowered her voice further.
“I sent it to you yesterday.”
Grace stared at the phone.
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Courier.”
“I haven’t received anything.”
“It was sent to your house.”
Grace’s blood went cold.
Her house.
The same house Ethan could still access.
“What did the package look like?”
“Small brown parcel.”
“Who was it addressed to?”
“You.”
“Did you require a signature?”
“Yes.”
Grace looked at Arthur.
“Can you check delivery records?”
He was already typing.
Eleanor whispered.
“Grace, there is something else you need to understand.”
“What?”
“Your father did not create Morrow Family Holdings to hide Atlas from you.”
“Then why?”
“He created it to hide Atlas from Ethan.”
The room went silent.
Grace’s throat tightened.
“How long ago?”
“Seven months before Richard died.”
Grace closed her eyes.
Her father had not merely distrusted Ethan.
He had acted.
Eleanor continued.
“Richard believed Ethan was already trying to gain control of the network.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He intended to.”
“When?”
“After your anniversary trip.”
Grace opened her eyes.
“What anniversary trip?”
“The one to Bermuda.”
Grace stopped breathing.
She and Ethan had gone to Bermuda seven years earlier.
Three weeks before her father entered the hospital for the final time.
Arthur looked at her.
Grace whispered.
“I remember.”
Something crashed on Eleanor’s end.
Then Ethan’s voice became clearer.
“Who are you talking to?”
Eleanor gasped.
The line went dead.
Grace stood so quickly her chair struck the wall.
“Call the police.”
Arthur reached for his phone.
Declan raised a hand.
“Wait.”
Grace turned on him.
“What?”
“We don’t know that she’s in danger.”
“She hung up.”
“Because Ethan walked in.”
“That is enough for me.”
“I agree we need a welfare check.”
“Then why are you stopping him?”
“Because local law enforcement arriving with lights and sirens could destroy whatever evidence is there.”
Grace stared at him.
Declan’s tone remained controlled.
“Welfare check.”
“Quietly.”
“Now.”
Grace looked at Arthur.
“Do it.”
Arthur made the call.
Thirty seconds later, his laptop chimed.
He looked down.
“Courier record.”
Grace crossed the room.
Arthur’s face changed.
“What?”
“The package was delivered yesterday at three-fourteen.”
“To the house?”
“Yes.”
“Who signed?”
Arthur rotated the screen.
Grace read the signature.
E. CALLOWAY.
Her husband.
The blood seemed to leave her hands.
Ethan had the ledger.
He had received it before leaving for the resort.
Before kissing Vanessa in the hotel lobby.
Before pretending to be surprised by Grace’s arrival.
Grace looked at Declan.
“He knew.”
Declan’s expression hardened.
“At least part of it.”
Grace turned back to the screen.
“What time did Ethan fly to the resort yesterday?”
Arthur checked.
“Private departure at five-forty.”
Grace calculated.
Two hours and twenty-six minutes after signing for the package.
Enough time to open it.
Enough time to read it.
Enough time to remove something.
“What did he do between three-fourteen and five-forty?”
Arthur searched.
Then looked up.
“He went to Calloway Meridian headquarters.”
“For how long?”
“Thirty-seven minutes.”
Grace felt something settle into place.
“He put something there.”
Declan nodded.
“Or took something out.”
Grace grabbed her coat.
Arthur frowned.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Grace.”
“I’m not flying to the island.”
“That was not my concern.”
“I need to see what Ethan left behind.”
Declan stood.
“I’m coming.”
Grace looked at him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever is in my house belongs to my marriage.”
Declan’s gaze held hers.
“That marriage is currently tied to a multibillion-dollar fraud investigation.”
“It is still my house.”
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Declan nodded.
“All right.”
Grace walked toward the door.
Her phone buzzed.
A security camera alert from her home.
Motion detected.
Front hall.
Grace stopped.
She opened the feed.
The image loaded.
A man stood inside her house.
Not Ethan.
Not security.
Nathan Cross.
Ethan’s best friend.
He was holding a small brown parcel.
Grace stared at the screen.
Then Nathan looked directly up at the camera.
As if he knew she was watching.
May you like
He lifted the parcel.
And smiled.
