Chapter 6 - THE SECRET ASSET
I spent the next day reviewing every asset connected to my name.
Nothing seemed unusual.
Investments.
Real estate.
Retirement accounts.
Corporate shares.
Intellectual property.
Then I remembered something.
Six years earlier, before my bakery expanded, I had purchased a neglected industrial property outside the city.
It was cheap.
Almost worthless.
Everyone told me not to buy it.
I did anyway.
I had intended to convert it into a central production facility.
But the zoning changed.
Then the city announced a massive redevelopment project.
Property values exploded.
I had forgotten about it because the property was held through a subsidiary.
I pulled the records.
My hands went cold.
The property was worth approximately $41 million.
I stared at the screen.
That wasn't all.
The redevelopment plans showed something else.
A proposed transit station would be built less than half a mile away.
The city had approved a commercial corridor surrounding it.
The property could potentially be worth over $100 million.
I leaned back.
My parents had discovered it.
But how?
I called the title company.
“Who requested copies of my property records?”
They checked.
“Your father's attorney.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Again.
Three months.
The same timeframe.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Mallory's million-dollar debt.
The forged corporate documents.
The lawsuit.
The bakery destruction.
None of it was about saving Mallory.
They wanted leverage.
They believed if they could force me into financial distress, they could acquire my assets.
The bakery was simply the first target.
The industrial property was the real prize.
I called the federal agent.
He listened quietly.
Then said:
“We need to talk.”
This time, he came to me.
He brought another agent.
They showed me bank records.
My father had transferred $600,000 into an account belonging to a company called H&H Development.
The money came from the sale of a property I didn't recognize.
I looked closer.
My stomach twisted.
It was my grandparents' old house.
The house had been sold eighteen months earlier.
My parents had inherited it.
But the sale proceeds had disappeared.
“Why is this relevant?”
The agent looked at me.
“Because your parents used part of that money to finance Mallory's loans.”
I stared at him.
“How much?”
“$300,000.”
The rest had gone into H&H Development.
“And who owns H&H?”
He slid a document toward me.
My father.
My mother.
And Mallory.
I closed my eyes.
They had been building a company.
With my family's money.
And they intended to use my assets to fund it.
Then the agent said:
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“We subpoenaed communications between your father and a private investigator.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“He was investigating you.”
“For what?”
The agent hesitated.
“Your adoption records.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
My father had been investigating whether I was biologically related to them.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“Why would he care?”
“We don't know.”
The agent pushed a final photograph across the table.
It showed my birth certificate.
But there was something strange about it.
The father's name was listed.
The mother's name was listed.
But the original document had been amended.
Twice.
I looked at the date.
Thirty-six years ago.
The same year I was born.
I felt dizzy.
The agent said softly:
“We think your father may have known something about your birth.”
I looked at the document.
Then at him.
“What does this have to do with my bakery?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he said:
“Maybe nothing.”
May you like
A pause.
“Or maybe everything.”
