Chapter 5 - THE PHOTO THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO DESTROY ME
By eight the next morning, my face was everywhere.
Cable news.
Financial websites.
Social media.
The photograph from Adrian’s bedroom had become whatever people needed it to become.
Proof that I was his mistress.
Proof that he was exploiting me.
Proof that I was blackmailing him.
Proof that a broke housekeeper had seduced a billionaire.
One woman on television called me “the mystery maid at the center of the Prescott empire scandal.”
I threw a pillow at the screen.
Maya turned the television off.
“Better.”
“My mother is going to see that.”
“She already did.”
I closed my eyes.
“My school is going to see that.”
“Yes.”
“My professors.”
“Yes.”
“My landlord.”
“Lucia.”
“I know.”
I stood.
“Feeling sorry for myself doesn’t change anything.”
“No.”
“So what changes something?”
Maya smiled faintly.
“Evidence.”
The emergency board meeting was held at Prescott Group headquarters in Manhattan.
Adrian technically had the right to attend until the removal resolution passed.
Caroline came too.
So did I.
The moment we entered the lobby, cameras exploded in flashes.
“Lucia! Were you having an affair with Adrian Prescott?”
“Did he pay your tuition?”
“Were you stealing corporate files?”
“Are you pregnant?”
I actually stopped at that one.
Adrian turned so fast I grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t.”
His jaw tightened.
We kept walking.
The boardroom occupied the forty-eighth floor.
Graham Prescott sat at the head of the table when we entered.
He looked almost exactly like an older version of Adrian’s father.
Silver hair.
Expensive navy suit.
Calm blue eyes.
A man who could steal forty-seven million dollars and still look like he belonged on a charity brochure.
“Adrian,” he said sadly. “I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
Adrian pulled out a chair.
“I’m sure you do.”
Graham looked at Caroline.
“My God.”
Her bruised face was impossible to ignore.
“What happened?”
“You know.”
He looked genuinely wounded.
“Caroline, whatever you believe—”
“Don’t.”
That one word shut him up.
The meeting began.
Graham’s lawyers presented everything.
The photograph.
The Bellweather documents.
The transfers carrying Adrian’s digital authorization.
My access to files inside the estate.
Even tuition payments from an anonymous donor made to my college three months earlier.
That surprised me.
“What tuition payments?”
The attorney looked almost pleased.
“Your spring semester was partially paid through a scholarship contribution from the Prescott Foundation.”
“I applied for financial aid.”
“And received funds indirectly controlled by Adrian Prescott.”
I looked at Adrian.
He looked equally confused.
“I didn’t do that.”
Graham sighed.
“This is precisely why we need an independent investigation.”
I almost admired the performance.
Almost.
Then the family doctor entered.
Dr. Samuel Klein had examined me after I collapsed.
Maya had located him the night before.
He testified that Adrian had called him at 9:08 a.m.
He had arrived at 9:31.
My blood pressure had been dangerously low.
My blood sugar was low.
I was dehydrated and severely sleep deprived.
The photograph was timestamped 9:17.
Meaning I had collapsed before Caroline took it.
The room changed slightly.
Not enough.
Graham leaned back.
“A medical fainting spell does not explain why an employee was gathering confidential financial documents.”
That was when I stood.
“May I?”
Graham looked at me as though the furniture had asked permission to speak.
“No.”
One of the independent directors, Helen Barrett, interrupted.
“I’d like to hear her.”
Graham’s eyes tightened.
I walked to the presentation screen.
My hands were shaking.
I hated that.
So I gripped the remote harder.
“I clean houses.”
A few board members shifted.
“I also attend business school at night.”
I displayed the first invoice.
“This is North Harbor Consulting.”
Second invoice.
“This is Sable Logistics.”
Third.
“Elliott Development Partners.”
I overlaid the routing numbers.
“Different companies. Same destination bank.”
Another slide.
“Each payment stays below the secondary-approval threshold.”
Another.
“The payments increase during months when the audit committee receives fewer vendor reports.”
Graham interrupted.
“Anyone could manufacture this presentation.”
“Yes.”
I looked directly at him.
“That’s why I brought the source documents your brother saved before he died.”
For the first time, Graham Prescott lost his composure.
Barely.
But I saw it.
So did Adrian.
Maya connected the drive.
Robert Prescott’s recordings played.
Nobody moved.
When Robert’s voice said, “If this recording is being heard, then I was correct about Graham,” one board member covered his mouth.
Graham stood.
“This meeting is over.”
Helen Barrett said, “Sit down.”
He turned.
“I said sit down, Graham.”
He did.
Caroline spoke next.
She confessed.
Not selectively.
Everything.
She admitted authorizing payments.
Admitted threatening me.
Admitted drafting the email using the bedroom photograph.
Admitted allowing Graham to manipulate her because she had been afraid of prison and disgrace.
“I was a coward,” she said. “Lucia was the person I tried to silence because she was doing what I should have done.”
I didn’t expect that.
Neither did Adrian.
The board postponed Adrian’s removal.
For eleven minutes, I thought we had won.
Then federal agents entered the room.
Special Agent Mercer was with them.
But his expression told me something was wrong.
“Adrian Prescott?”
Adrian stood.
“Yes.”
“We have a warrant.”
My stomach dropped.
“For what?”
Mercer looked almost apologetic.
“Conspiracy to commit wire fraud, falsification of corporate financial records, and unlawful transfer of pension assets.”
Graham sat very still.
Too still.
Adrian stared at the agent.
“You know I didn’t do this.”
“I know what I believe.”
Mercer lowered his voice.
“But we found something this morning.”
“What?”
“A Bellweather custody account in the Cayman Islands.”
Adrian laughed once in disbelief.
“I have never had an account in the Cayman Islands.”
“It contains eleven point eight million dollars.”
“Then freeze it.”
“We already did.”
“Good.”
Mercer’s next words made the room go silent.
“The account was opened using your passport, your tax identification number, your biometric authorization, and a notarized video recording of you approving the transfer.”
Adrian froze.
“Video?”
Mercer nodded.
Graham looked down.
I saw it.
The smallest hint of satisfaction.
Adrian was handcuffed.
The cameras were waiting when they took him downstairs.
I stood behind the glass doors of the forty-eighth-floor lobby while reporters screamed his name.
He turned once before entering the elevator.
His eyes found mine.
I wanted to tell him I would fix it.
That sounded impossible.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
The message contained an address near Penn Station and six words.
I KNOW HOW THEY COPIED ADRIAN.
A second message followed.
COME BEFORE THEY FIND ME TOO.
The sender signed one name.
Ethan Cole.
Caroline saw my face.
“Who is that?”
I showed her.
She went white.
“Lucia.”
“What?”
“Ethan Cole was Dad’s head of digital security.”
“Was?”
“He disappeared three months after Dad died.”
“Disappeared?”
May you like
Caroline slowly shook her head.
“We were told he was dead.”
