Chapter 3 - The Shadow Partner
Z
The rain beat incessantly against the glass windowpane of my father’s old study. Returning to the Boston estate after the explosive scene at the boardroom felt surreal. The grand, sweeping marble staircases and crystal chandeliers that had once felt like home now felt like a gilded cage built on false pretenses. Every frame on the wall containing photos of Daniel and me felt like a cruel joke, a stark reminder of how completely I had let my guard down over the last decade.
I stood in front of the fireplace, holding a glass of scotch, watching the flames lick the dark mahogany wood. Miriam was seated at the massive oak desk, her laptop illuminated, throwing harsh blue light across her face as she reviewed the financial disclosures retrieved from Daniel's seized personal computer.
"It's worse than we thought, Eleanor," Miriam said quietly, not looking up from her screen. "The money Daniel transferred to Vanessa's shell accounts? It was just the tip of the iceberg. Over the last thirty-six months, Daniel systematically funneled over forty million dollars out of Hartwell’s research and development funds."
I took a slow sip of the scotch, feeling the warm burn down my throat. "And where did that forty million go?"
"It wasn't spent on luxury cars or diamond bracelets," Miriam replied, turning the laptop screen toward me. "It was routed through a maze of European bank accounts, eventually landing in the coffers of Thorne Global Capital. Julian Thorne’s hedge fund."
I walked over to the desk and leaned over the laptop screen. The complex wire trail was laid out in red and green lines. The math was indisputable. Daniel wasn't just stealing to build a secret life with Vanessa and their son; he was actively funding Julian Thorne's acquisition of Hartwell's proprietary aviation patents.
"He sold out our next-generation hybrid engine design," I breathed, feeling a fresh wave of fury. "The engine my father spent the last five years of his life developing. Daniel handed the blueprints to Julian on a silver platter."
"Which means Julian's firm is preparing to unveil the exact same technology at the International Aviation Expo in New York next month," Miriam added grimly. "If they patent it first, Hartwell Aviation will be bankrupted by patent infringement lawsuits. Daniel wasn't just planning to walk away with your money, Eleanor. He was setting up Hartwell to be completely dismantled, allowing Julian Thorne to buy the carcass for pennies on the dollar."
Just then, the phone on the desk rang. It was an unlisted number.
I picked it up, pressing it to my ear. "Eleanor Hartwell."
"You always were the sharper one, Eleanor," a smooth, deeply resonant voice spoke through the receiver. The voice was unmistakable. Rich, arrogant, and dripping with malicious confidence. Julian Thorne.
"Julian," I said coldly. "I'd say it's nice to hear from you, but I don't enjoy speaking to thieves."
Julian chuckled, a dry, grating sound that made my skin crawl. "Thieves is such an ugly word. I prefer the term 'shrewd investor.' You must admit, your husband—well, soon-to-be ex-husband—was remarkably easy to turn. All it took was a little financial encouragement, a few introductions to high-society circles, and an attractive woman like Vanessa to play the role of his ideal partner. He was so desperate to escape your father's shadow that he didn't even realize he was working for me."
"He's sitting in a federal holding cell right now, Julian," I reminded him. "And you won't be far behind once the DOJ follows the paper trail straight to your desk."
"Oh, Eleanor, don't be naive," Julian scoffed. "Do you really think a man of my standing leaves paper trails that stick? Daniel signed every single document as the acting CEO of Hartwell Aviation. On paper, it looks like your company was transferring funds to acquire assets through my fund. As far as the law is concerned, Hartwell was engaging in illegal offshore tax evasion. Daniel is the fall guy, and your company is the target. By the time the federal investigation settles, Hartwell will be bankrupt, and I will own your father's patents."
"You underestimate me, Julian," I said, my voice hardening to ice. "You forgot that before I was a Hartwell, I was a federal prosecutor. I know how men like you operate. And I know every legal loophole you think you're hiding behind."
"Then let's see how well your prosecution background serves you when the market opens on Monday morning," Julian replied smoothly. "Because I've just authorized a massive short-sell on Hartwell stock. By noon, your family's company will be worth nothing. Have a pleasant evening, Eleanor."
The line went dead.
I slowly lowered the phone, my mind racing. Julian was pushing me into a corner, expecting me to panic, to react emotionally just like he assumed any grieving, betrayed wife would. But he didn't realize that the moment Daniel stepped into that lounge with another woman, the grieving wife died.
"Miriam," I said sharply, turning to my attorney. "Call the Securities and Exchange Commission. Tell them we are filing an emergency injunction to halt trading on Hartwell stock due to corporate sabotage."
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"An emergency halt will trigger a massive media firestorm, Eleanor," Miriam warned. "The press will go wild. The headlines will tear your personal life apart."
"Let them," I said, a dark smile touching my lips. "While the media is distracted by the circus of my personal life, we're going to pull off a maneuver Julian Thorne never saw coming. Get me the warden at the federal detention center. I need to visit my husband."
