Chapter 3 - WHISPERS IN THE BOARDROOM
The interrogation room at the municipal fraud bureau was cold and windowless, but Ivy sat with the same quiet composure she had worn in the ballroom months ago. Across the metal table sat Investigator Vance, a man whose cynical scowl suggested decades of bureaucratic weariness.
"Explain the three-million-dollar wire transfer sent to the Cayman account registered under 'Lancaster Holdings' last Friday, Miss Lancaster," Vance pressed, tapping the document. "You are the sole authorized signer for that specific disbursement account."
"Lancaster Holdings was dissolved five years ago when the bankruptcy court finalized my father's liquidation," Ivy replied steadily, her gaze unflinching. "That digital token was generated from an internal IP address inside Blackwood Tower, during a time window when I was physically inspecting the foundation’s medical shelter on the East Side. Check the security logs."
Vance’s pen paused. Before he could retort, the heavy door clicked open.
David Chen, head of Blackwood Global's legal powerhouse, entered the room, followed by Ronan. Chen placed a thick leather binder on the table with a resounding thud.
"Here are the cryptographic logs from Blackwood’s internal server, Investigator Vance," Chen stated smoothly. "The unauthorized access was routed through a spoofed VPN, originating from a terminal inside the Hail Financial Tower. Furthermore, Judge Harrison’s emergency injunction has been overturned by the appellate court as of ten minutes ago due to gross conflict of interest—specifically, a half-million-dollar campaign donation made by Julian Hail to Harrison’s judicial PAC."
Vance swallowed hard, glancing nervously between Chen and Ronan. "Miss Lancaster is free to go."
Outside the precinct, a barrage of flashbulbs illuminated the twilight drizzle. Reporters shouted questions, thrusting microphones forward. Vivian Hail stood across the street on the steps of her father’s limousine, wrapped in a pristine mink coat, watching with a cold, predatory smile.
Ronan didn't flinch. In full view of the media cameras, he reached out, took Ivy’s coat, and draped it over her shoulders with the same deliberate reverence he had shown in the ballroom. Then, sliding his arm protectively around her waist, he leaned down toward the nearest cluster of microphones.
"Let me make this unequivocally clear," Ronan’s voice rang out, commanding total silence on the street. "Every attack against Ivy Lancaster is an attack against the Blackwood family. Tomorrow morning, Blackwood Capital begins an open-market acquisition of Hail Conglomerate’s voting shares. Tell Julian Hail that his time is up."
Vivian’s smirk vanished into pure, furious disbelief as Ronan guided Ivy into his private car.
As the armored sedan pulled away, Ivy looked at Ronan. "You’re risking your empire’s stock stability for a fight that was started to destroy me."
Ronan turned his head, his gaze intensely personal in the dim interior of the vehicle. "This stopped being just business the moment they tried to hurt you, Ivy. But there is something else you need to know."
He opened a locked briefcase and pulled out a faded, yellowed folder from thirty years ago.
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"My father and your father were once business partners," Ronan revealed, his eyes burning with a dark, uncovered secret. "And Julian Hail was the accountant who made sure their first joint venture burned to the ground."
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