Chapter 5 - The Locked Office
Arthur unlocked the estate office himself.
That seemed to matter to him.
This room had once belonged to his father and then to him—a place where contracts were reviewed, donations authorized, and family trust records kept. He opened the door with a hand that remained steady, but I could see anger gathering beneath the control.
Beatrice followed us only because Arthur ordered her to.
“No one leaves,” he said.
Inside, the office smelled faintly of leather, cedar, and old paper. A brass desk lamp glowed in the corner. The file cabinet Ophelia had photographed stood against the far wall.
“Show me,” Arthur said.
Ophelia walked directly to the cabinet, then pointed to the second drawer.
“The blue ledgers were here,” she said. “Along with a black flash drive in a bank envelope.”
Arthur opened the drawer.
Three blue ledgers remained.
The flash drive did not.
Beatrice folded her arms. “There. Satisfied? Imaginary evidence has a habit of disappearing.”
But Ophelia did not look surprised.
“I expected that,” she said.
Then she reached into her handbag and produced a second flash drive.
“I copied what I could before I was dismissed.”
Beatrice actually stepped forward.
Arthur blocked her with one arm.
The attorney plugged the drive into his laptop.
A series of folders appeared on the screen:
Estate vendors
Household payroll
Family expenses
Private
V.O.
“Open V.O.,” my father said.
Inside were scanned invoices, internal notes, screenshots of bank transfers, and photographs of ledger pages.
The first document showed monthly payments from one of Arthur’s construction subsidiaries to a consulting company called Bromwell Household Solutions.
Arthur frowned. “I’ve never heard of this company.”
Ophelia answered quietly. “Because it is not a real household vendor.”
The next page listed the registered contact:
Amber Vance.
Amber’s chair scraped against the floor. “That’s ridiculous. It’s a consulting firm.”
“For what?” Arthur asked.
She said nothing.
A second company appeared:
Chloe Strategy Interiors.
Again, payments had been routed from estate improvement accounts and household maintenance budgets.
Chloe’s hands began to shake. “Everyone uses family businesses. That isn’t illegal.”
The attorney looked grim. “Not if services were actually provided.”
Then he opened a ledger image.
One column listed estate disbursements.
Another listed the supposed purpose.
A third contained handwritten codes.
AV - A
AV - C
BV personal
R transition
V watch
“V watch?” Ryan asked.
No one answered.
The attorney clicked another file.
It was a private investigator invoice.
Subject:
Valeria Ortega.
Services requested:
employment confirmation, extended family background, travel patterns, military status, reputational exposure.
Ryan turned so slowly toward his mother that the movement seemed to hurt him.
“You had me investigated?”
“No,” Beatrice said quickly. “I had her investigated.”
I took Alma from one shoulder to the other.
Beatrice pointed at me as if she were finally exposing the obvious.
“She arrived in this family with too many questions and too many secrets. I had every right to know who was around my son.”
My father’s voice was calm enough to terrify lesser people.
“You hired a private investigator to look into my daughter while allowing your guests to laugh at a dog collar placed near her newborn.”
Beatrice lifted her chin. “And what did your daughter do? She ran crying to her father.”
I met her gaze.
“No,” I said. “I reported a threat to my family.”
Arthur was no longer looking at me or Beatrice.
He was looking at the screen.
Specifically at a payment line under the investigator invoices.
Memo:
build file - use later if custody issue.
Ryan stumbled back a step.
“What custody issue?”
No one answered him.
May you like
But Ophelia did.
“Mrs. Vance believed,” she said quietly, “that if your marriage failed, the child should stay here.”
