Chapter 3 - THE PAPER TRAIL
I spread the documents across my mahogany desk under the sharp white glow of my lamp.
Marcus Chen’s investigation was flawless. Bank statements, wire transfers, private investigator retainers, and encrypted messaging logs were laid out before me in meticulous order.
Eighteen months ago, Rya Vance was operating a failing boutique PR firm in downtown Chicago, buried under $200,000 of high-interest business debt and facing imminent bankruptcy.
Then, her name appeared in the client ledger of a corporate intelligence firm called Apex Security.
According to the records, Rya had commissioned a target search for single, unattached young men living in Chicago who were secretly linked to untraceable private trusts. My son’s name—Felix Morrison—was at the very top of that report.
I leaned back in my leather chair, taking a slow, deep breath.
She hadn't met Felix by accident at that local coffee shop near his architecture firm. She had scouted his morning routine, memorized his schedule, bought the exact same latte he ordered every Tuesday, and "accidentally" dropped her laptop bag right at his feet.
Every smile, every shared interest, every late-night conversation about how much he missed having a close family—it was all part of a cold, calculated corporate execution.
And the scene at the wedding? That wasn't a drunken breakdown.
I flipped to the second folder, labeled The Vance Family Assets.
Rya’s father, Arthur Vance, was a disgraced former hedge-fund manager who had lost his license five years ago for illegal short-selling. Her parents’ grand lifestyle, the expensive venue, the crystal chandeliers at the head table—it was all financed through temporary high-interest loans taken out by Arthur, backed by personal guarantees that were due in sixty days.
They needed a massive cash infusion, and they needed it fast.
Rya’s goal at the wedding had been to publicly humiliate me so severely that I would either cut Felix off completely—leaving him entirely dependent on her family’s guidance—or provoke me into a massive public scene that she could leverage for a quiet, multi-million-dollar out-of-court settlement to protect my corporate reputation.
She never expected the real-estate developer at Table 4 to recognize my face and blurt out my net worth to the entire room.
My phone rang on the desk. It was Marcus Chen.
“Dela,” Marcus said, his deep voice calm and authoritative over the line. “Did you read the second file?”
“I just finished it, Marcus,” I said, staring out at the city skyline. “She hunted my son.”
“It gets worse,” Marcus advised. “Arthur Vance filed for a private bridge loan yesterday afternoon with a secondary lender in Manhattan. As collateral, he listed an anticipated legal settlement and trust disbursement from Morrison Holdings.”
I let out a low, cold laugh. “They’re counting their chickens before they’ve even cracked the shell.”
“What’s your play, Dela?” Marcus asked. “We can present this file to Felix right now. It will shatter him, but it will end the marriage.”
I looked at a framed photograph on my desk—a tiny six-year-old Felix holding a wooden rocket ship I had bought him after working a double shift at the cleaning firm.
“If I give this to Felix right now, Marcus, he won't believe it,” I said softly. “Rya has spent eighteen months conditioning him to view me as a cold, manipulative monster. If I hand him these papers, she will convince him that I forged them to tear them apart. He will cut me off forever and run straight into her trap.”
May you like
“So what do you want to do?”
“We play along,” I said, my voice hardening into steel. “Send over the financial waiver document tomorrow morning. Let’s see how far Rya is willing to go when she realizes the vault door is locked.”
