Chapter 7 - THE FIANCÉE WHO KNEW MORE THAN SHE ADMITTED
“Tiffany Monroe collected a duplicate of my father's private trust records?”
Helen Price nodded.
“The request was processed as an authorized archival certification.”
I examined the registry.
Arthur's signature appeared on the authorization.
Tiffany's name was written on the collection receipt.
The date was six months earlier.
The same week Julian received his $180,000 consulting payment.
I felt my anger return.
This was no longer just a suspicious financial transaction.
It was a trail of people I knew passing my father's most private documents among themselves.
“Did Tiffany identify herself as an employee of Whitmore Capital?” I asked.
Helen checked the record.
“No. She presented a letter identifying her as a representative of a consulting firm.”
“What firm?”
“Keene Advisory Services.”
Martin Keene.
Again.
Daniel photographed the ledger.
“Thank you, Ms. Price. We'll request certified copies through counsel.”
I put the watch back into its pouch.
Then I took out my phone.
For one moment, I wanted to call Tiffany and demand an explanation.
Instead, I asked Daniel to arrange a meeting.
I was learning that anger could make people talk.
But patience often made them reveal what they were trying to hide.
Tiffany arrived at my office the next morning wearing a cream-colored suit.
Without the emerald gown and diamond necklace, she looked younger.
She glanced around the room.
The antique books.
The family photographs.
The simple wooden desk I'd restored myself.
“This doesn't look like a billionaire's office,” she said.
I almost smiled.
“That's probably why I like it.”
She sat down.
Neither of us mentioned the gala.
Then I placed the archival receipt in front of her.
“You collected my father's trust records six months ago.”
Tiffany stared at the paper.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the records facility.”
She looked away.
“I was told the documents were needed for an investment review.”
“Who told you?”
“Julian.”
I felt something sink inside me.
“Did you know whose records they were?”
“No.”
“Did you know they belonged to my family?”
She hesitated.
“Not at first.”
I leaned back.
“Tiffany.”
She twisted the diamond ring on her finger.
“I found out later.”
“When?”
“After Julian proposed.”
“And you didn't think to tell me?”
She looked up sharply.
“Why would I? You were his ex-wife. He told me the divorce was settled and you didn't want anything to do with him.”
“That didn't give you permission to collect confidential trust records.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
I watched her carefully.
“Did you know Julian had been hired to investigate my family before we married?”
Tiffany shook her head.
“No. He told me he started reviewing the trust because Whitmore Capital needed an internal audit.”
I studied her face.
For the first time, she didn't look arrogant.
She looked humiliated.
“You believed him.”
“Yes.”
“Just as I once believed him.”
Her eyes filled.
She looked down at her ring.
“I didn't come here to ask for sympathy.”
“Then why did you come?”
“Because my mother told me about her meeting with you.”
I waited.
Tiffany swallowed.
“She said Julian had approached her years ago, before he even knew me.”
“That's true.”
“And she said he'd asked about the same restricted money he recently asked me to help investigate.”
I nodded.
Tiffany pressed her lips together.
“Last night, I asked him whether he had ever used me to get close to my mother.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I was being dramatic.”
I felt a familiar ache.
The words were almost identical to what he'd told me when I questioned his affair.
Tiffany wiped beneath one eye.
“I thought he loved me because I was different from you.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“He told me you were quiet and unambitious. That you didn't understand his career. He said I made him feel important.”
I remembered those exact accusations.
Julian had told me I made him feel small.
I had spent years wondering whether loving antique books and avoiding expensive parties had somehow made me inadequate.
Now I understood.
Julian hadn't needed a different woman.
He needed someone who reflected the version of himself he wanted to believe.
Tiffany looked at me.
“I was cruel to you at the gala.”
“Yes, you were.”
“And to Margaret.”
“Yes.”
She lowered her head.
“I'm ashamed of that.”
I let the silence settle.
An apology mattered.
But it didn't erase what happened.
“What did you do with the records?” I asked.
“I delivered the certified copies to Martin Keene's office.”
“Did you keep anything?”
She hesitated.
Then she opened her handbag.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper.
“I found this tucked inside the envelope. I thought it was a cover sheet, but it had a different date and a different account number.”
I unfolded it.
It was a copy of an old investment authorization.
At the bottom was a signature.
Not mine.
Not Evelyn's.
Arthur Whitmore's.
The transaction was dated shortly after my father's death.
The amount was twelve million dollars.
The receiving company was an early version of Northbridge Development Holdings.
I stared at it.
“Why did you keep this?”
“Because Julian became furious when he saw it.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me it wasn't part of the audit and that I should destroy it.”
“Did he explain why?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“But later that night, I heard him arguing with Martin Keene. Julian said Arthur had been paying someone for years to keep the old accounts quiet.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Did he say who?”
Tiffany shook her head.
“No. But Keene said something strange.”
“What?”
“He said Arthur wasn't the person we should be afraid of.”
I stared at her.
“Who was?”
“He said the real problem was the person who could prove the original transfer never belonged to Northbridge.”
I looked at the document again.
Twelve million dollars.
A suspicious authorization.
An old account.
And a company whose name had been reused.
I reached for my father's watch.
Its silver case felt cold against my palm.
Suddenly, the larger pattern began to emerge.
The forty-million-dollar reserve wasn't necessarily the money someone wanted to steal.
It might be the money someone needed to control in order to conceal an older transaction.
I called Daniel.
“Bring Arthur in. I want the original Northbridge account reconciliations.”
Tiffany stood.
“Anastasia?”
I looked up.
She removed her engagement ring.
“I don't know whether Julian committed the fraud.”
Her voice shook.
“But I know he lied to both of us.”
She placed the ring on my desk.
“Please make sure my mother doesn't lose everything because of him.”
I looked at the young woman standing before me.
For the first time, I didn't see the woman who'd replaced me.
I saw someone finally beginning to understand the cost of trusting Julian Thorne.
“I'll follow the evidence,” I said. “That's all I can promise.”
After she left, Daniel entered.
He had been reviewing the historical accounts.
His expression was grim.
“We found the twelve-million-dollar transfer.”
“Where did the money go?”
He placed a financial statement beside Tiffany's paper.
“Through Northbridge. Then into several development investments.”
“Who benefited?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Some of the proceeds went to Whitmore Capital's founding partners.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“And the rest?”
He hesitated.
“Anastasia, one of the investments was used to acquire a controlling interest in a company that later became part of Whitmore Capital.”
I stared at him.
“Are you saying the firm was built partly with money from my father's charity?”
Daniel nodded.
“We can't establish that yet, but the evidence raises that possibility.”
Then he turned to the final page.
May you like
And I saw a signature that made my blood run cold.
Arthur Whitmore hadn't merely approved the old transaction. He had personally guaranteed that the money would be returned to the children's medical reserve—and the guarantee had expired the day before my gala.
