CHAPTER 5 THIRTY WITNESSES
I read the message three times.
YOUR HUSBAND KNOWS WHO KILLED YOUR FATHER.
My hands went numb.
I stared at the photograph again.
My father.
My mother.
Richard Vance.
Three people who were never supposed to have stood together.
And the date stamped in the corner was three days before my father's death.
I zoomed in.
My father's face was unmistakable.
He wasn't sick.
He wasn't weak.
He wasn't lying in a hospital bed.
He was standing upright in a dark suit, one hand resting on the shoulder of my mother.
And Richard Vance was standing beside them.
My husband's father.
The man Flynn had always described as a ruthless businessman who had died years ago believing Vance Global belonged entirely to his family.
Something about the photograph felt wrong.
Not the people.
The location.
Behind them was a familiar wall.
Dark wood.
A brass emblem.
A portrait.
I had seen that room before.
At Vance Global.
The executive boardroom.
My father had been there.
My mother had been there.
And Richard Vance had been there.
Three days before my father died.
I looked toward the bedroom.
Flynn was gone.
I checked the driveway.
His car wasn't there.
Then I remembered his words.
Your father wasn't the man you think he was.
At the time, I thought he was trying to manipulate me.
Now I wasn't sure.
My father had secrets.
My mother had disappeared.
Richard Vance had died.
My father had supposedly died naturally.
And Flynn had somehow known enough to warn me about all three.
I picked up my phone.
I called the number that had sent the photograph.
Nothing.
Straight to voicemail.
I called again.
Nothing.
I typed:
Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
Someone who watched your father die.
My heart stopped.
Who killed him?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
Ask Flynn why he was at the hospital that night.
I froze.
Flynn had told me he wasn't there.
I remembered the night perfectly.
My father had collapsed during dinner.
I had been at home.
Flynn had been at the office.
Or so he said.
He had arrived at the hospital almost an hour later.
He had hugged me.
Told me to breathe.
Told me everything would be okay.
I had believed him.
I had always believed him.
I suddenly felt sick.
I searched my old phone backups.
Hospital records.
Messages.
Emails.
There.
A message from Flynn.
Running late. Don't wait for me.
Time stamp:
7:43 p.m.
My father collapsed at 8:12.
Then another message.
8:26.
I'm on my way.
Another.
8:49.
Traffic is terrible.
But the hospital records showed Flynn had signed in at 8:31.
He had arrived eighteen minutes before he claimed to have left the office.
I stared at the screen.
My husband had lied about where he was on the night my father died.
But why?
At 7:00 a.m., I drove to the hospital.
I had no appointment.
I didn't care.
I went to medical records and requested my father's file.
The clerk checked the system.
“Richard Hart?”
“Yes.”
She frowned.
“Some records are restricted.”
“I'm his daughter.”
She checked my identification.
Then shook her head.
“I'm sorry.”
“Why?”
“There's an attorney restriction.”
My heart sank.
“Which attorney?”
She looked at the screen.
“Jonathan Reed.”
Of course.
I called Jonathan.
He answered immediately.
“Mabel.”
“I need my father's hospital records.”
“You're not supposed to access those yet.”
“Why?”
“Because the official cause of death isn't what you think.”
My blood ran cold.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father didn't die naturally.”
“I knew there were inconsistencies.”
“That's not what I asked.”
He sighed.
“Mabel, please come to my office.”
“No.”
“Mabel—”
“I need answers.”
“You're asking questions that can put you in danger.”
“I've already been lied to for three years.”
Silence.
“Tell me what happened.”
Jonathan spoke carefully.
“Your father suffered cardiac arrest.”
“I know.”
“But there was evidence of poisoning.”
I stopped walking.
“What?”
“The hospital found traces of a rare compound.”
My throat tightened.
“Why wasn't that in the death certificate?”
“Because the concentration wasn't high enough to establish criminal causation.”
“So you suspected poisoning.”
“Yes.”
“And you told no one?”
“We told the authorities.”
“Did they investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing was proven.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who was at the hospital?”
“Your mother.”
I opened my eyes.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“But she was supposed to be missing.”
“She was.”
“How could she have been there?”
“She arrived shortly before your father died.”
My mind raced.
“And Flynn?”
Jonathan hesitated.
“Yes.”
“He was there too.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eleven minutes.”
“Eleven minutes?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Jonathan's voice dropped.
“He entered your father's room alone.”
My stomach twisted.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Jonathan.”
“I don't know.”
I hung up.
Then I stood in the hospital corridor.
Eleven minutes.
Flynn had been alone with my father for eleven minutes.
Three years ago.
Before my father died.
Before Flynn admitted he had been seeing Selina.
Before I knew about the money.
Before I knew about the shares.
Before I knew my mother was alive.
Eleven minutes.
I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Then I saw someone at the end of the corridor.
An elderly nurse.
She was watching me.
I approached.
“Excuse me.”
She looked frightened.
“Are you Mabel Hart?”
“Yes.”
She looked around.
Then lowered her voice.
“I remember your father.”
My heart began pounding.
“You were here that night?”
She nodded.
“I was his nurse.”
“What happened?”
She hesitated.
“Your father woke up.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He woke up after the first cardiac arrest.”
“But he died.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“He wasn't dead yet.”
My blood ran cold.
“What did he say?”
She looked at me.
“He asked for you.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“What did he say?”
The nurse swallowed.
“He said…”
She looked around again.
Then whispered:
“Don't let Flynn take the shares.”
I stopped breathing.
The nurse continued.
“He repeated it three times.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because someone came into the room.”
“Who?”
She stared at me.
“Your husband.”
I closed my eyes.
The hallway seemed to disappear.
Flynn.
Again.
Always Flynn.
“What happened after he came in?”
The nurse looked terrified.
“I was ordered out.”
“By whom?”
She didn't answer.
I already knew.
I whispered,
“Flynn?”
She nodded.
Then she said something else.
“Your father was alive when I left.”
My heart stopped.
“How long?”
“Eleven minutes later, the monitor went flat.”
I stared at her.
“Did Flynn leave?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
I walked out of the hospital feeling like the ground beneath me had changed.
My father had been alive.
Flynn had been alone with him.
Then my father died.
And now Flynn had been moving money through accounts tied to my father.
The pieces weren't forming a picture.
They were forming a weapon.
My phone rang.
Daniel Mercer.
Flynn's CFO.
I answered.
“Daniel?”
His voice was urgent.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Come to the office.”
“No.”
“You need to see something.”
“What?”
“I can't explain over the phone.”
“Daniel—”
“Thirty people saw what happened yesterday.”
I froze.
“What do you mean?”
“The video.”
“What about it?”
“It's everywhere.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who released it?”
“We don't know.”
I drove straight to Vance Global.
When I entered the lobby, the atmosphere was completely different.
People were whispering.
Employees stopped talking when I walked past.
Phones were everywhere.
I heard my name.
Then Selina's.
Then Flynn's.
I reached the elevator.
Daniel was waiting.
He looked exhausted.
“What's happening?”
He handed me his phone.
A video was playing.
The same video from yesterday.
Flynn sitting at his desk.
Selina on his lap.
The necklace around her neck.
The moment I walked into the office.
The thirty windows.
The frozen faces.
Then my voice:
“Is sitting on his lap part of your job description?”
The clip ended.
Underneath it was a headline.
VANCE GLOBAL CEO CAUGHT WITH ASSISTANT DURING EXECUTIVE MEETING.
Millions of views.
Thousands of comments.
Daniel looked at me.
“Someone posted it anonymously.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“Flynn?”
“No.”
“Selina?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Daniel shook his head.
“That isn't the worst part.”
He opened another file.
The video had triggered an internal investigation.
Several employees had submitted statements.
All thirty-plus witnesses.
But one employee had attached something else.
An email.
Sent three days before the video.
The subject line:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, RELEASE THIS.
I stared at it.
“Who sent it?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Your father's former accountant.”
My heart stopped.
“What's his name?”
“Martin Cole.”
I knew that name.
My father had mentioned him once.
He had disappeared shortly after my father's death.
I thought he had retired.
“Where is he?”
Daniel looked at me.
“He died six months ago.”
I stared at him.
“Of what?”
“Car accident.”
Another accident.
I felt cold.
Daniel opened the attachment.
A spreadsheet.
Hundreds of transactions.
Dates.
Amounts.
Account numbers.
Names.
And one repeating recipient.
M.S.A. Holdings.
The same offshore entity.
The same company connected to the necklace.
But Martin had highlighted several transactions.
One stood out.
$10,000,000.
I stared.
“Ten million?”
Daniel nodded.
“Transferred from Hart Meridian Capital.”
“To M.S.A.?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two days after your father died.”
My chest tightened.
“Who authorized it?”
Daniel zoomed in.
The authorization line showed a digital signature.
Mabel Elizabeth Hart.
My blood ran cold.
“That isn't my signature.”
“I know.”
Daniel looked at me.
“But the system recognizes it as yours.”
“Who had access?”
He didn't answer.
I already knew.
Flynn.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“There are twelve transactions like this.”
“Twelve?”
“Over thirty-seven million total.”
My heart pounded.
“And every transaction carries your name.”
“Why?”
“We think someone is building a case.”
“Against me.”
Daniel nodded.
“For fraud.”
I stared at the screen.
Flynn wasn't simply stealing my inheritance.
He was building evidence to make it appear that I was the thief.
Then Daniel said something worse.
“The board is meeting this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“To suspend Flynn.”
I looked at him.
“Because of the video?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
“The financial irregularities.”
“Who discovered them?”
Daniel hesitated.
“I did.”
“You're Flynn's CFO.”
“Yes.”
“And you're turning against him?”
“I've been covering holes in the books for two years.”
My eyes widened.
“How much?”
“More than I could hide.”
“Why did you stay?”
“Because Flynn threatened me.”
“With what?”
“My family.”
I stared at him.
Then I remembered something.
“Daniel…”
“Yes?”
“Who has access to the company servers?”
“Flynn. Me. IT security.”
“Selina?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I thought about the forged signatures.
The documents.
The necklace.
The offshore accounts.
Then I realized something.
Selina couldn't have done it alone.
She wasn't the mastermind.
She was a participant.
Someone else had been directing her.
Someone with access.
Someone who understood finance.
Someone who knew exactly how to manipulate corporate records.
Someone who knew my father.
Someone who knew my inheritance.
Someone who knew my marriage.
I asked Daniel:
“Who was Flynn meeting with the night my father died?”
He looked at me.
“You know?”
“No.”
He hesitated.
Then:
“Your stepmother.”
My heart stopped.
“My stepmother is dead.”
Daniel stared at me.
“That's what I thought.”
I felt a chill.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw her.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Where?”
“Vance Global.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Who was she with?”
Daniel's eyes dropped.
“Selina.”
The boardroom was packed.
By noon, the story had spread through every major financial outlet.
Vance Global's stock was falling.
Investors were demanding answers.
The board wanted Flynn removed.
Employees were frightened.
And the thirty people who had witnessed the video were being questioned by attorneys.
I stood outside the boardroom.
Daniel stood beside me.
“You don't have to do this.”
“Yes.”
“Mabel, if you walk in there, you become part of the investigation.”
“I already am.”
The doors opened.
Flynn stood at the head of the table.
He looked different.
Older.
Colder.
The man who had begged me to stay last night was gone.
Now he looked like the CEO everyone feared.
His eyes met mine.
“You shouldn't be here.”
I walked inside.
“I think I should.”
The board members turned toward me.
Some recognized me.
Others looked confused.
One director stood.
“Mrs. Vance, this is a confidential corporate meeting.”
I placed a folder on the table.
“So is fraud.”
Silence.
Flynn's face hardened.
“What are you doing?”
“Presenting evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Your financial misconduct.”
A murmur moved around the room.
Flynn laughed.
“You're making accusations you can't prove.”
I opened the folder.
“I have twelve transactions.”
His smile disappeared.
“Transfers from Hart Meridian Capital.”
He stared at me.
“Thirty-seven million dollars.”
The room went silent.
“And every transaction was made using my identity.”
One director looked at Flynn.
“Is this true?”
Flynn said nothing.
I continued.
“There's also the $110,000 necklace.”
Selina was sitting near the back of the room.
Her face went white.
“Purchased through an account connected to Hart Meridian Capital.”
Flynn slammed his hand onto the table.
“Enough.”
I didn't stop.
“Registered under my name.”
The board members exchanged looks.
Then I placed the final document on the table.
“The signatures were forged.”
Flynn's face changed.
“You can't prove that.”
“I don't have to.”
I looked toward the door.
Jonathan walked in.
Behind him was a forensic accountant.
And behind them—
a police detective.
Flynn stood.
“What is this?”
Jonathan answered.
“A formal investigation.”
Flynn looked at me.
His eyes were full of fury.
“You're doing this to me?”
I stared at him.
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You did this to yourself.”
The detective stepped forward.
“Mr. Vance, we need to ask you some questions regarding financial transfers from Hart Meridian Capital.”
Flynn looked at Selina.
She wouldn't meet his eyes.
He looked at Daniel.
Daniel stood silently.
Then Flynn looked at me.
His voice dropped.
“You don't understand what you've started.”
I leaned toward him.
“I understand exactly what I've started.”
I lowered my voice.
“And I'm not stopping.”
The detective escorted Flynn toward the door.
As he passed me, he whispered:
“You're going to regret this.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
I smiled.
“You're going to regret underestimating me.”
Flynn was taken away.
The boardroom doors closed behind him.
For the first time in three years—
he wasn't in control.
But then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
YOU WON THE BOARDROOM.
Another message appeared.
BUT YOU STILL DON'T KNOW WHO OWNS M.S.A. HOLDINGS.
Then a photograph.
It showed a woman entering a private bank.
The woman was wearing sunglasses.
But I recognized her immediately.
My stepmother.
The woman everyone believed had died two years ago.
Underneath the photograph was one final message:
SHE HAS YOUR FATHER'S ORIGINAL WILL.
I stared at the screen.
My father's original will.
The will that had supposedly been destroyed.
The will that could explain everything.
Then another message appeared.
AND SHE'S MEETING SELINA TONIGHT.
I looked toward the closed boardroom doors.
Flynn was being investigated.
Selina was still inside the building.
My stepmother was alive.
My mother was alive.
My father may have been murdered.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it was a hidden fortune worth far more than I had imagined.
I slipped my phone into my pocket.
Then I walked toward the elevator.
Because I had finally realized the truth.
Flynn Vance wasn't the beginning of this story.
He was only the man who had stepped into a game my father had started decades earlier.
And now—
May you like
I was going to find out who had been moving the pieces.
Before they moved me.
