Chapter 4 - Sins of the FathersZ
The music seemed to stretch thin as I crossed the polished hardwood floor of the ballroom. Every step I took in my five-inch heels felt deliberate, heavy, and loaded with a decade's worth of suppressed rage. Andrew walked half a step behind me, his eyes locked on Marcus like a predator tracking prey.
When I reached Table Four, Marcus didn't look surprised. He took a slow sip of his scotch, set the glass down with a soft click, and smiled up at me with that same smirking arrogance he had inherited from his father.
"Well, well," Marcus drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Look at the family miracle. I heard you transformed, Leah, but seeing it in person... I have to hand it to you. You actually look human."
Chloe Sterling giggled behind her manicured hand, sipping her prosecco. "Honestly, Marcus, she looks better than human. Who’s your surgeon, Leah? Or was it just extreme starvation?"
I didn't waste my breath on Chloe. I slid the black envelope across the table, stopping it right in front of Marcus's drink.
"Explain this," I said, my voice dropping into a low, lethal register.
Marcus glanced down at the envelope. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second—so fast most people would have missed it—before he forced his expression back into a cool mask of indifference. He slid the photo out, looked at it, and tossed it back onto the table.
"An old picture from senior year," Marcus said smoothly. "So what? Chad was playing a prank on you. You were an easy target back then, Leah. You practically begged for it, sitting there like a giant lump."
"Look at the date stamped on the back of the print, Marcus," I said, leaning over the table until I was inches from his face. "October 14th, 2015. That was the exact night my dad's office servers were breached and his client records were wiped. The same night someone dropped a flash drive containing fake tax fraud documents into the local sheriff's tip box."
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"
"Look at the bottle Chad is holding over my backpack in that picture," I demanded. "That's not water. That’s a hardware destruction drive—a encrypted kill-switch USB wrapped in a plastic case. My dad kept that drive in his master safe at home. The only people who had the code to our house were family."
Chloe looked between Marcus and me, her smirk slowly disappearing as she realized this wasn't high school petty drama anymore. "Marcus... what is she talking about?"
"Shut up, Chloe," Marcus snapped, his cool facade cracking. He turned his gaze back to me, his knuckles turning white around his glass. "You don't know what you're talking about, Leah. You were a clueless kid back then who spent her time crying in stall doors. You don't know anything about my dad's business or yours."
"I know my father spent the last six months of his life broken, humiliated, and bankrupt because someone framed him," I said, my chest tight with a pain so deep it burned. "And I know that two months after he died, your father bought out his remaining assets for pennies on the dollar and built your family's real estate empire."
"It was business!" Marcus spat, standing up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing the attention of several nearby tables. "Your dad was weak! He was soft, just like you were! He didn't have the stomach for what it took to run this town!"
"So you used me," I whispered, the sickening truth finally locking into place. "You knew I was insecure. You knew Chad and Betty were picking on me. You used their bullying as a distraction so you could steal from my dad's bag while I was asleep in the library."
Marcus stepped around the table, getting right into my space. "And what if I did? Huh? What are you gonna do about it, Leah? It was ten years ago. The statute of limitations on civil fraud in this state is long gone. The police didn't care then, and they certainly won't care now. You have a picture of Chad holding a plastic bottle. That proves nothing."
"It proves you're a monster," Andrew said, stepping up right beside me, his height towering over Marcus. "And trust me, friend, the law isn't the only thing that can ruin a man's life."
Marcus looked up at Andrew, sneering. "Who the hell are you? Her hired bodyguard?"
"I'm the guy who owns the venture capital firm that currently holds 40% of your real estate firm's commercial debt," Andrew said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Marcus froze. The color instantly drained from his face, leaving him looking as pale as Betty had in the bathroom. "What... what did you say?"
"Andrew Hayes," Andrew said softly, offering a cold, sharp smile. "Hayes Global Investments. We bought out your primary lender three weeks ago, Marcus. I was going to wait until Monday to review your loan renewals, but after seeing how you treat my girlfriend... I think I'll call an emergency board meeting tonight."
Before Marcus could speak, the man sitting in the shadow of the pillar—the third person at Table Four who hadn't said a word—suddenly stood up.
When he stepped into the light of the chandelier, my breath caught in my throat.
May you like
It was Detective Miller. The lead investigator who had handled my father's fraud case ten years ago—and the man who had officially closed the case as an "unsolved corporate suicide."
"You might want to hold off on that board meeting, Mr. Hayes," Detective Miller said, pulling a leather badge from his coat pocket. "Because this reunion is about to turn into an crime scene."
