Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE THAT DIDN’T BELONG TO THEM
Brendan spent the next ten minutes insisting he had never authorized the transfer.
Nobody listened.
Marcus’s team collected every Halcyon-owned device inside the house.
Phones.
Laptops.
Tablets.
Even the company-issued computer Diane kept in the study.
When one of the officers reached for Brendan’s phone, he pulled it away.
“You need a warrant.”
Arthur looked at him.
“It belongs to Halcyon.”
“It’s my phone.”
“Check the back.”
Brendan turned it over.
The Halcyon asset sticker was still attached.
His face tightened.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Arthur’s expression remained flat.
“No.”
Then he glanced at me.
“I’m not.”
That was the difference between decent people and the Morrisons.
Decent people didn’t enjoy watching someone’s life collapse.
Even when that person deserved consequences.
Diane, however, had recovered enough to become furious.
“This is outrageous.”
She turned toward me.
“You walk into my home, create some ridiculous corporate spectacle, and allow strangers to seize our property?”
I looked around the dining room.
The chandelier.
The paintings.
The custom furniture.
The antique cabinet.
Something Arthur had said earlier clicked into place.
“Your home?”
Diane’s chin lifted.
“Yes. My home.”
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
Almost like he already knew what was coming.
I turned to him.
“Who owns this property?”
Brendan swore under his breath.
Diane looked confused.
Arthur answered.
“Halcyon Executive Residential Holdings.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“This is company property?”
“Yes.”
Diane’s face went red.
“This home was provided to Richard as part of his compensation package.”
“Richard.”
My former father-in-law.
Executive Vice Chairman of Halcyon Global.
The man who had conveniently skipped dinner because he was supposedly in London.
I looked at Arthur.
“Where is Richard?”
“Our London office says he never arrived.”
Brendan’s head snapped around.
“What?”
Arthur looked at him.
“Your father has not been in London.”
“That’s impossible. I spoke to him this morning.”
“Where was he?”
“He said London.”
Marcus quietly said, “His corporate aircraft landed in Zurich yesterday.”
Diane’s face changed.
That reaction was enough.
I turned to her.
“You knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Richard was in Switzerland.”
“I don’t keep track of my husband’s itinerary.”
“You just said the house was yours. Apparently you don’t keep track of that either.”
Jessica covered her mouth.
Not to hide a laugh this time.
To hide fear.
Diane glared at me.
“You think money makes you powerful?”
“No.”
I took Arthur’s jacket tighter around myself.
“Information does.”
She stepped closer.
“And what exactly do you intend to do? Throw us into the street?”
I looked at the dirty water still pooled around my chair.
Then at the bucket.
“No.”
Diane smiled triumphantly.
“Because you know how that would look.”
“I’m not throwing anyone anywhere.”
I turned to Marcus.
“What does Richard’s executive housing agreement say after suspension?”
Arthur answered.
“Occupancy terminates seventy-two hours after executive status is revoked.”
Diane’s smile disappeared.
Brendan whispered, “Jesus.”
I looked at Arthur.
“Is Richard suspended?”
“Under Protocol 7, all Morrison-family executives with related-party financial authority were automatically placed on administrative suspension until the internal review concludes.”
I nodded.
“Then follow the contract.”
Diane stared at me.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t write his contract.”
“Cassidy.”
For the first time, she said my name without contempt.
It sounded strange.
Almost human.
Then she changed tactics.
“You’re pregnant.”
I stared at her.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re emotional.”
There it was.
“You’ve just gone through a divorce. Brendan made mistakes. We all said things tonight that perhaps we shouldn’t have.”
“Perhaps?”
Her eyes flicked toward the bucket.
“It was a joke.”
My baby kicked.
I looked down at my stomach.
“It didn’t feel like one.”
Diane lowered her voice.
“You don’t want your daughter born into a war.”
“No.”
I looked up.
“That’s why I’m ending one.”
Brendan stepped between us.
“Enough.”
He sounded different.
Less arrogant.
More desperate.
“Cassidy, can we talk privately?”
“No.”
“Please.”
I almost laughed.
In three years of marriage, Brendan rarely said please.
But fear improves vocabulary.
“I have nothing to say privately.”
“I’m the father of your child.”
“And that is the only reason you’re still standing close enough to speak to me.”
He flinched.
Jessica looked away.
For a second, I remembered another Brendan.
The one who used to bring me coffee in bed.
The one who cried when we saw our daughter’s heartbeat for the first time.
The man who once drove three hours because I mentioned craving a particular pie from a bakery near my mother’s hometown.
I had loved that man.
Maybe he had existed.
Maybe I had imagined him.
Either way, he was gone.
Brendan lowered his voice.
“I didn’t steal thirty-eight million dollars.”
“Then the investigation will prove that.”
“My career will be destroyed before that happens.”
“Maybe.”
His jaw tightened.
“That doesn’t bother you?”
I thought about the months he had spent humiliating me.
Jessica’s perfume on his shirt.
His secret hotel receipts.
The night he told me he was filing for divorce while I sat on the bathroom floor with morning sickness.
He hadn’t asked whether destroying my life bothered him.
So I gave him the truth.
“Right now, Brendan, I’m more concerned about whether someone used your credentials to steal eight million dollars.”
His eyes shifted.
That tiny movement.
Toward Jessica.
She saw it.
“What?” she whispered.
He said nothing.
Her expression changed.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“I’m not.”
“You just did.”
“Jessica.”
“No.”
She stepped backward.
“You told me those consulting payments were approved.”
Diane snapped, “Be quiet.”
Jessica looked at her.
That was interesting.
Not Brendan.
Diane.
I noticed Arthur notice it too.
Jessica’s voice dropped.
“You said—”
“Enough.”
Diane’s tone was sharp.
Jessica stopped.
The entire room seemed to shrink.
I stepped closer.
“What did Diane say?”
Jessica looked at me.
Then at Brendan.
Then Diane.
“Nobody.”
“What did she say?”
“Cassidy,” Brendan interrupted, “don’t interrogate her.”
I turned on him.
“Thirty-eight million dollars is missing from my company.”
“Our company,” he said automatically.
Arthur actually laughed.
It was one short, humorless sound.
“No, Brendan.”
Brendan stared at him.
Arthur continued.
“You own 0.04 percent vested common stock.”
Brendan’s face burned.
Arthur looked at me.
“Cassidy owns the company.”
Jessica sank back into her chair.
I asked again.
“What did Diane tell you?”
Diane slammed her hand onto the table.
“This conversation is over.”
Marcus moved half a step forward.
Diane noticed.
So did I.
For the first time in all the years I had known her, Diane Morrison realized that commanding a room only worked when people recognized your authority.
Tonight, nobody did.
Jessica swallowed.
Then she whispered something.
“What?”
I leaned closer.
She looked directly at me.
“Blue Harbor.”
Arthur froze.
Marcus slowly turned.
I didn’t recognize the name.
“What is Blue Harbor?”
Jessica’s voice trembled.
“It’s the consulting company.”
“The one receiving Halcyon payments?”
She nodded.
“Who owns it?”
“I thought my brother did.”
“You thought?”
“He signed paperwork.”
Diane snapped, “Jessica.”
Jessica suddenly stood.
“No!”
Everyone went silent.
She looked at Diane.
“You said nobody would ever look at those accounts.”
Brendan stared at his mother.
“Mom?”
Diane’s face became still.
Jessica’s breathing quickened.
“You told me it was tax planning.”
Diane stepped toward her.
“You are confused.”
“I’m not confused.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I had half a glass of wine.”
Diane’s expression changed.
That polished society smile disappeared completely.
“Be very careful.”
Jessica stared at her.
Then something unexpected happened.
She laughed.
A frightened, broken little laugh.
“You’re threatening me?”
“I’m advising you.”
Jessica reached for her purse.
Marcus blocked the doorway.
She stopped.
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re free to leave,” Marcus said. “But Halcyon property stays.”
“My personal phone isn’t Halcyon property.”
Arthur said, “You may keep it.”
Jessica pulled it out.
Diane watched her.
Too closely.
Jessica looked at me.
“There’s something you should know.”
Brendan said her name.
“Jessica.”
She ignored him.
“Two months ago Diane asked me to sign documents for Blue Harbor.”
My stomach tightened.
“What documents?”
“I don’t know. She said they were vendor renewals.”
“Where?”
“Her study.”
Arthur immediately turned toward Marcus.
Marcus touched his earpiece.
“Secure the study.”
Diane’s face went white.
She moved toward the hall.
Marcus’s officer stepped in front of her.
“Ma’am.”
“That is my private office.”
“Not anymore.”
For thirty seconds, nobody spoke.
Then one of Marcus’s officers appeared in the doorway.
He was holding a black binder.
“Mr. Hale?”
Marcus took it.
The binder had a blue label.
BLUE HARBOR CONSULTING.
Diane closed her eyes.
Arthur opened the binder.
He scanned the first page.
Then the second.
His face hardened.
“What?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Arthur.”
He looked at me.
“These appear to be authorization documents.”
“For what?”
He looked at Brendan.
“Payments.”
Brendan’s face drained.
Then Arthur turned one page around.
At the bottom was a signature.
Brendan Morrison.
Brendan stared at it.
“No.”
Jessica whispered, “Brendan…”
He grabbed the paper.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Arthur looked at him.
“It looks like your signature.”
“I know what my signature looks like.”
He turned the page over.
“I DID NOT SIGN THIS.”
And for the first time all night, I believed him.
Because Brendan Morrison was many things.
Weak.
Arrogant.
Unfaithful.
Cruel when surrounded by people who rewarded cruelty.
But the terror on his face was real.
I looked toward Diane.
She wasn’t watching her son.
She was watching the binder.
That told me exactly where to look next.
“Marcus,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Lock down every Blue Harbor record.”
“Already happening.”
“And find Richard.”
Marcus nodded.
My phone rang.
Unknown international number.
Arthur looked at the screen.
“Don’t answer.”
I stared at it.
Then something inside me said I should.
I pressed the button.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a familiar male voice.
“Cassidy.”
Richard Morrison.
Brendan’s father.
“Richard.”
Across the room, Diane stopped moving.
Richard breathed slowly.
“I understand there’s been some excitement.”
“Where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He chuckled.
The sound made my skin cold.
“You should deactivate Protocol 7.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard my offer.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You might.”
A pause.
Then he said seven words that changed the entire night.
“Because Blue Harbor isn’t the real problem.”
I gripped the phone.
“What is?”
Richard’s voice became quieter.
“Ask Diane what happened to the missing eighty-three million.”
May you like
Diane’s wineglass slipped from her hand.
And shattered on the floor.
