PART 10

But I had already learned what happened when adults gave children comforting lies instead of difficult truths. “They may try to contact us,” I said. “But you and Charlotte are safe with me.” “Dad signed the paper.” “Yes.” “So he can’t make us go back?” “No one is taking you anywhere without me.” Abigail considered that. Then she looked at her sleeping sister. “Good.” It was the first time I had ever heard relief in my daughter’s voice after discussing her father. Seven hours later, our flight landed at Heathrow. By the time I switched on my phone, I had thirty-two missed calls. Thirteen were from Victor. Nine were from Samantha. Six were from an unknown number. The remaining four were from Claire Reynolds. There were also two voicemails. The first came from Victor. “Penelope, answer your phone. Naomi lied. The baby isn’t mine, and my father knew. Samantha says Daniel gave you something. Whatever it is, it belongs to my family. Do not open it. Do not show it to anyone. Call me immediately.” Even after everything, he still believed he could give me orders. The second voicemail came from Claire. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Penelope, I know Daniel gave you the envelope. Please don’t hand it to Walter. Daniel sent me a scheduled email this morning. He said if he didn’t cancel it by eleven, I should assume he had been taken. His car was found near the river two hours ago. There was blood on the driver’s seat.” She paused, and I heard her struggling to breathe. “Walter says Daniel stole from the company. That isn’t true. Daniel found out Walter was stealing from your daughters. Please call me. And if you have the key, do not go to Westbridge Bank alone.” The message ended. Margaret stood beside me while the girls waited for their luggage. “Are you going to call her?” “Not until I know what happened in Zurich.” A familiar voice spoke behind me. “That is the correct answer.” I turned quickly. A tall gray-haired man in a dark suit stood several feet away. His name was Julian Harcourt. He had managed my grandmother’s estate and prepared the documents that allowed me to return to London with my daughters. Two security officers stood behind him. “Mrs. Gable called me from the plane,” he explained. “I thought you might require assistance.” I glanced at Margaret. She gave me a small, unapologetic smile. Julian looked at the suitcase in my hand. “Is Daniel’s envelope inside?” “Yes.” “Then we should not remain in a public terminal.” “Do you know about the trust?” “I know your daughters’ names appear in documents Walter Reynolds has spent nearly a decade trying to bury.” My pulse quickened. “How much of the company do they own?” Julian’s expression became guarded. “That depends on which version of the trust is legally valid.” “What does that mean?” “It means we need to examine Daniel’s evidence before I answer.” We left Heathrow through a private exit.

The girls traveled with Margaret in the first car. I rode with Julian and one of the security officers in the second. During the drive, Samantha sent me a photograph. Victor stood in the clinic hallway with one hand pressed against the wall. Miriam sat in a wheelchair beside him. Walter and Naomi were gone. Beneath the photograph, Samantha had written: DAD TOOK NAOMI. VICTOR TRIED TO STOP THEM. DAD SAID THE CHILD STILL BELONGS TO THIS FAMILY. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? I did not respond. We reached my grandmother’s house shortly after nine that evening. Vance House was not a palace or a mansion. It was a warm three-story brick home with ivy along one wall and a small garden in the back. To me, it represented something more valuable than wealth. It was a place Victor had never controlled. Charlotte ran from room to room in excitement. Abigail selected the bedroom overlooking the garden. For a little while, I allowed them to be children. We ate tomato soup and toasted sandwiches in the kitchen. Margaret found an old box of my childhood books. I tucked the girls into bed and promised we would explore the neighborhood the next morning. Only after they were asleep did we enter my grandmother’s study. Julian placed a laptop on the desk. “This computer has no internet connection,” he said. “Whatever is on Daniel’s drive will remain inside this room.” I unlocked the suitcase. Julian photographed the sealed items for the legal record. Then he inserted the drive. Six folders appeared. PATERNITY. TRUST AMENDMENTS. DIVIDENDS. RIDGEWAY HOLDINGS. WALTER RECORDINGS. VANCE CONTINGENCY. Julian opened the paternity folder first. The report was clear. Probability of Daniel Reynolds’s paternity: 99.9987%. Next, he opened the trust folder. There were hundreds of pages. Original documents. Amendments. Notarized signatures. Letters between trustees. Julian read silently for several minutes. Then his face changed. “What is it?” I asked. “Daniel was right.” “About the girls?” “Yes. But he did not explain the most important clause in his letter.” He turned the screen toward me. A paragraph had been highlighted. Upon the legal dissolution of Victor James Reynolds’s marriage, custodial voting authority assigned to his descendants shall transfer immediately to the parent granted primary physical custody. I stared at the words. “Custodial voting authority?” Julian leaned back. “Until this morning, Walter controlled the girls’ shares through a temporary trustee appointment.” “And now?” “Now you do.” “How many shares?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART….