Chapter 8 - The Secret Messages
There were sixty-three messages.
Andrew had deleted most from Sophia’s tablet.
Cloud backups preserved them.
He had been manipulating an eight-year-old.
Tell Daddy when Mommy is angry.
Take a picture of Mommy’s papers.
Don’t tell Mommy.
Daddy is trying to save our family.
The worst:
If Mommy takes you somewhere after Grandma’s party, send me the location.
He knew something would happen at the banquet.
Maybe Patricia’s humiliation had been planned by more than Patricia.
Sophia sobbed when I asked why she hadn’t told me.
“I thought Daddy would lose his job.”
I held her.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He said grown-up problems happen because people don’t help.”
“No.”
I made her look at me.
“Grown-up problems are for grown-ups.”
That night, I stopped thinking about revenge.
I wanted distance.
Legal.
Financial.
Physical.
Andrew would no longer have unsupervised access to our daughters until a court reviewed the evidence.
My attorneys moved immediately.
The emergency custody hearing changed direction once the messages were presented.
Andrew’s request failed.
The judge ordered temporary supervised contact.
He was furious.
Outside court, he cornered me near the elevators.
“You turned my children against me.”
“You told Sophia to spy on me.”
“I was protecting myself.”
“From your eight-year-old?”
“From you.”
His face had changed.
The polished businessman was gone.
“You think because you have money, you control everything.”
“No, Andrew.”
I looked directly at him.
“I think because I own my company, you don’t.”
He flinched.
So he knew the asset transfers were failing.
Then I mentioned the promissory note.
“5.4 million pesos.”
His expression tightened.
“That’s nothing.”
“I know.”
That scared him more.
Because now he understood I knew about the larger debts.
“How much, Andrew?”
He smiled.
“You’ll find out.”
The elevator opened.
He stepped inside.
Then said:
“You should ask Rebecca why she really disappeared.”
The doors closed.
I called Rebecca immediately.
She refused to answer.
Then she sent one message:
NOT OVER THE PHONE.
We met at a secure office outside Richmond.
Rebecca looked exhausted.
“I lied about why I helped him.”
I waited.
“Andrew didn’t convince me your company was failing.”
“What did he use?”
She slid a photograph toward me.
My father.
Entering a motel room with Rebecca.
I stared.
Then another.
They had been having an affair.
My father had been married to my mother for forty-two years.
Rebecca was thirty-eight.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
I felt nauseated.
“Andrew knew?”
“He found out last year.”
Blackmail again.
Andrew forced Rebecca to provide internal documents.
Then threatened to send everything to my mother.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
“Instead you helped him forge my documents.”
She cried.
“Yes.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I asked:
“What else did you give him?”
Her answer nearly destroyed what remained of my trust in my father.
“Your estate plan.”
I went still.
“Why?”
“Andrew wanted to know what happened to Vance & Horizon if you died.”
“And?”
Rebecca looked down.
“If something happened to you before the girls turned twenty-five, your voting shares would enter a trust.”
“I know.”
“Your father becomes trustee.”
“Yes.”
She looked up.
“That’s what the version you have says.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does the filed version say?”
Rebecca slid another document toward me.
Successor trustee:
Daniel Mercer.
Then, if Daniel was unable to serve:
Andrew Vance.
My father had changed my estate plan.
May you like
And this time—
the signature wasn’t forged.
