Chapter 6

Nine o'clock the next morning. The Holloway Group headquarters.

Two security guards stepped in front of the glass doors.

"I'm sorry. Mr. Forsythe has given standing orders — no unauthorized visitors."

Ethan put both hands on their shoulders and moved them aside. We walked through the lobby and took the elevator up.

The top-floor boardroom doors were closed. I pushed them open.

Elliot was seated at the head of the table, senior executives and shareholders arranged on either side of him. When he saw me, he rose.

"What are you doing here?"

I pulled out the chair directly across from him and sat down.

Ethan circulated around the table, setting a copy of a document in front of each person present.

"Those are the trust documents for the core shares of Holloway Holdings," I said. "My father established the Holloway Family Trust years ago. Every share is protected by biometric authentication. Nothing transfers without my fingerprint, my retinal scan, and my signature."

The shareholders flipped through the pages, murmuring to one another.

Elliot planted both hands on the table and leaned forward. "This is a forgery. You signed the original transfer agreement yourself."

I reached into my bag and placed a forensic handwriting report on the table.

"That report was produced by an independent examiner," I said. "The signature on the transfer agreement was forged. Which means your appointment carries no legal standing whatsoever."

Elliot straightened. His jaw was tight.

"Everyone out."

The shareholders filed out one by one, expressions unreadable. The door clicked shut behind the last of them.

The moment the room was empty, Elliot dropped to his knees on the carpet.

"Mara." His voice broke. "I was wrong. Vivian is gone — I cut her off completely. If you come back, the company is yours. We start over. Please."

He reached for the hem of my trousers with both hands.

Ethan stepped between them, put his foot on Elliot's chest, and shoved him flat onto the floor. He looked down at him from where he stood.

"You can start over," he said, "in prison."

The lead detective stepped into the room, badge already out.

"Elliot Forsythe. We're with the Metropolitan Police, Financial Crimes and Fraud Division. You are being detained on suspicion of theft of trade secrets, embezzlement of company assets, and falsification of legal documents. You need to come with us."

Elliot was still on the floor. His face had gone the color of ash. He looked up, desperate.

"There's been a mistake. This is a domestic matter. The documents are not forged — it was a misunderstanding—"

I reached into the clear evidence bag that Ethan handed me and set it on the floor in front of him.

Inside was a copy of Danny Alderton's recorded statement, and court records from my father's case.

Ethan spoke over him, his voice flat.

"Eight years ago, you paid Danny ten thousand dollars to stage an assault on Mara, and you personally directed the filming from the alley entrance. When your plan unraveled and her father reacted, you used your position as an attorney to falsify and suppress evidence — to cover your own involvement and to get a legal stranglehold on Mara and on Holloway Holdings."

The detective took it from there, his tone clipped and without warmth.

"Our investigation confirms that the key evidence you introduced in the original case contains material falsifications. You are further suspected of conspiracy to commit assault, witness tampering, and perjury."

The sound Elliot made when the words landed was barely human.

"No — Mara, please — let me explain—"

He was still trying to grab at me when both officers stepped forward, hauled him up by the arms, and locked the handcuffs around his wrists. The metal snicked shut.

The detective gave the order.

"Save it for the interrogation room. Move."

They dragged him out through the boardroom doors. His voice carried back down the hall, calling my name, ragged and desperate.

The doors swung shut.

The room was quiet.

The police moved fast. By afternoon, the web Elliot had spent years building was being pulled apart strand by strand.

Across the city, in a studio apartment in a rundown block, Vivian was dragging her suitcase toward the door when someone knocked — sharp, insistent.

Two officers held up their badges through the gap.

"Vivian Hartley? You're wanted for questioning. You're suspected of conspiring with your late mother to forge a medical paternity report, with intent to extort and illegally seize assets belonging to the Holloway estate. You're also suspected of providing material assistance in Elliot Forsythe's embezzlement case. You'll need to come with us."

"I don't have any money. Everything was Elliot's idea. My mother's been dead for years — none of this has anything to do with me—"

The officer took her by the arm and guided her toward the door.

"The financial records tell a different story. Every transaction between you and Forsythe is documented. Let's go."

Vivian was escorted out, still shouting, and put into the back of a police car.