Chapter 8
The forensic team worked through the night. By morning, we had the full picture—and it was worse than Dominic knew.
Elena Voss wasn't just Richard Chen's lover. She was his sister.
Different mothers, different last names. They'd been running long-form corporate infiltration schemes across three countries for over a decade. Target wealthy families, place Elena as the emotional weapon, use Richard for financial extraction. By the time the victims realized what happened, both were gone with the money.
Harrison Group was supposed to be their biggest score yet.
"They've hit six other families," James said, spreading case files across my desk. "Same pattern. Romantic infiltration, financial embezzlement, total destruction. The Voss siblings are wanted in two countries under different names."
"And no one connected the dots?"
"The victims were too ashamed to report it publicly. Rich families don't advertise being conned." James paused. "You're the first target who survived intact."
Not just survived. I'd been unknowingly dismantling their operation from the inside for three years—every time I'd fixed a financial crisis, I'd been repairing damage they'd deliberately caused.
"Where is Elena now?" I asked.
"Still in the city. She hasn't fled yet—probably because she doesn't know we have Richard's communications." James pulled up a surveillance photo. "She's been seen meeting with someone new."
The photo showed Elena at a café with a man I didn't recognize. Young, handsome, expensive suit.
"Who is he?"
"That's the interesting part." James zoomed in. "Nathan Cross. New VP of acquisitions at—"
"Ashworth Capital." The blood drained from my face. "He works for US."
James nodded grimly. "Hired three months ago. Stellar resume, glowing references—all of which, upon re-verification this morning, appear to be fabricated."
They weren't done. Elena had lost her grip on the Harrisons, so she'd pivoted to a new target. MY company.
My grandmother's company.
Ice filled my veins. "Has he accessed any sensitive files?"
"I've locked him out as of thirty minutes ago. But he's had three months of access. We're still assessing the damage."
I stood abruptly. "Get security. I want him detained before lunch."
"Already in motion." James hesitated. "There's one more thing."
"What?"
"Nathan Cross had a meeting scheduled this afternoon. With your grandmother. Alone."
My heart stopped.
Eleanor Ashworth was eighty-three years old, sharp as a blade but physically frail. If Elena's pattern held—if they'd moved from financial extraction to something more desperate—
I grabbed my phone. No answer from grandmother's line. No answer from the estate.
"Get me a car," I said. "NOW."
The drive to grandmother's estate took twenty-two minutes. I made it in fourteen.
The gates were open—they shouldn't have been. The security booth was empty.
I burst through the front door to find the foyer silent. No butler. No staff.
"Grandmother!" My voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
Nothing.
I ran through the house, checking rooms—empty, empty, empty—
Until I reached the sunroom.
Grandmother sat in her usual chair, bourbon in hand, completely calm. Across from her sat Elena Voss, legs crossed, a manila folder on the table between them.
And standing behind Elena, one hand resting on the back of her chair, was Nathan Cross.
Grandmother looked up at my entrance with mild surprise. "Serena, darling. You're early."
"Get away from her," I said to Elena, my voice low and deadly.
Elena smiled—that same perfect, practiced smile. "Hello, Serena. I was just having a lovely chat with your grandmother about the future of Ashworth Capital."
"The future," grandmother repeated, taking a deliberate sip of bourbon, "in which Ms. Voss believes she can threaten me into signing over controlling shares."
Elena's smile didn't falter. "Not threaten. Negotiate."
"With what leverage?" I demanded.
Nathan Cross reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin tablet, turning the screen toward me.
On it were photos. Documents. Financial records that should never have left Ashworth Capital's encrypted servers.
"Three months of access," Nathan said smoothly. "Enough to find every skeleton in the Ashworth closet. Tax irregularities from 2015. The offshore restructuring that skirted SEC guidelines. Your grandmother's private medical records—including her cognitive decline diagnosis."
My blood turned to ice. Cognitive decline. Grandmother had told no one except me.
"Release those," Elena said, "and the Ashworth name becomes mud. Share price tanks. Board confidence evaporates." She leaned forward. "OR... Eleanor signs over 40% of controlling shares to a holding company we designate. Quietly. Privately. And no one ever sees those files."
Grandmother set down her bourbon with a soft clink.
"Darling," she said to me, perfectly composed, "would you like to tell them, or shall I?"
Elena Voss wasn't just Richard Chen's lover. She was his sister.
Different mothers, different last names. They'd been running long-form corporate infiltration schemes across three countries for over a decade. Target wealthy families, place Elena as the emotional weapon, use Richard for financial extraction. By the time the victims realized what happened, both were gone with the money.
Harrison Group was supposed to be their biggest score yet.
"They've hit six other families," James said, spreading case files across my desk. "Same pattern. Romantic infiltration, financial embezzlement, total destruction. The Voss siblings are wanted in two countries under different names."
"And no one connected the dots?"
"The victims were too ashamed to report it publicly. Rich families don't advertise being conned." James paused. "You're the first target who survived intact."
Not just survived. I'd been unknowingly dismantling their operation from the inside for three years—every time I'd fixed a financial crisis, I'd been repairing damage they'd deliberately caused.
"Where is Elena now?" I asked.
"Still in the city. She hasn't fled yet—probably because she doesn't know we have Richard's communications." James pulled up a surveillance photo. "She's been seen meeting with someone new."
The photo showed Elena at a café with a man I didn't recognize. Young, handsome, expensive suit.
"Who is he?"
"That's the interesting part." James zoomed in. "Nathan Cross. New VP of acquisitions at—"
"Ashworth Capital." The blood drained from my face. "He works for US."
James nodded grimly. "Hired three months ago. Stellar resume, glowing references—all of which, upon re-verification this morning, appear to be fabricated."
They weren't done. Elena had lost her grip on the Harrisons, so she'd pivoted to a new target. MY company.
My grandmother's company.
Ice filled my veins. "Has he accessed any sensitive files?"
"I've locked him out as of thirty minutes ago. But he's had three months of access. We're still assessing the damage."
I stood abruptly. "Get security. I want him detained before lunch."
"Already in motion." James hesitated. "There's one more thing."
"What?"
"Nathan Cross had a meeting scheduled this afternoon. With your grandmother. Alone."
My heart stopped.
Eleanor Ashworth was eighty-three years old, sharp as a blade but physically frail. If Elena's pattern held—if they'd moved from financial extraction to something more desperate—
I grabbed my phone. No answer from grandmother's line. No answer from the estate.
"Get me a car," I said. "NOW."
The drive to grandmother's estate took twenty-two minutes. I made it in fourteen.
The gates were open—they shouldn't have been. The security booth was empty.
I burst through the front door to find the foyer silent. No butler. No staff.
"Grandmother!" My voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
Nothing.
I ran through the house, checking rooms—empty, empty, empty—
Until I reached the sunroom.
Grandmother sat in her usual chair, bourbon in hand, completely calm. Across from her sat Elena Voss, legs crossed, a manila folder on the table between them.
And standing behind Elena, one hand resting on the back of her chair, was Nathan Cross.
Grandmother looked up at my entrance with mild surprise. "Serena, darling. You're early."
"Get away from her," I said to Elena, my voice low and deadly.
Elena smiled—that same perfect, practiced smile. "Hello, Serena. I was just having a lovely chat with your grandmother about the future of Ashworth Capital."
"The future," grandmother repeated, taking a deliberate sip of bourbon, "in which Ms. Voss believes she can threaten me into signing over controlling shares."
Elena's smile didn't falter. "Not threaten. Negotiate."
"With what leverage?" I demanded.
Nathan Cross reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin tablet, turning the screen toward me.
On it were photos. Documents. Financial records that should never have left Ashworth Capital's encrypted servers.
"Three months of access," Nathan said smoothly. "Enough to find every skeleton in the Ashworth closet. Tax irregularities from 2015. The offshore restructuring that skirted SEC guidelines. Your grandmother's private medical records—including her cognitive decline diagnosis."
My blood turned to ice. Cognitive decline. Grandmother had told no one except me.
"Release those," Elena said, "and the Ashworth name becomes mud. Share price tanks. Board confidence evaporates." She leaned forward. "OR... Eleanor signs over 40% of controlling shares to a holding company we designate. Quietly. Privately. And no one ever sees those files."
Grandmother set down her bourbon with a soft clink.
"Darling," she said to me, perfectly composed, "would you like to tell them, or shall I?"