Chapter 2 - The Hospital Room and the First Discovery
By noon, the chaotic energy of the emergency room had given way to the steady, rhythmic beep of a pediatric heart monitor.
Maisie was resting comfortably. The doctors confirmed that the sedative in her system—a heavy dose of prescription lorazepam meant for an adult—had been strong enough to cause respiratory depression, but because we caught it in time, she was going to make a full recovery. She was sleeping now, her color returning to her cheeks, her small hand wrapped securely around my thumb.
Lucas sat in the chair beside the bed, holding a warm cup of coffee he’d gotten from the cafeteria. His eyes were bloodshot, the pristine blue shirt from the engagement party now wrinkled and stained with soot from the dumpster.
"Your parents' lawyer is already calling my phone," Lucas said quietly, breaking the silence.
I looked up from Maisie's bed. "Which lawyer? Their corporate counsel?"
"No. A criminal defense specialist named Vance Sterling. He’s the most expensive shark in the city." Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Which brings up a question I’ve been meaning to ask you since last night. How are Warren and Elaine paying for Vance Sterling on a moment's notice? That retainer alone costs upwards of fifty thousand dollars."
I frowned. "The business is profitable, but cash flow has always been tight. Dad always complained about liquidity."
"Maya," Lucas said, his expression grave. "Your name is still on the corporate registry as a third-partner stakeholder, right? When was the last time you actually looked at the company books?"
A cold knot formed in my stomach. "Not since I went on maternity leave two years ago."
"Go check," Lucas urged gently. "Use my laptop. Something doesn't add up."
I kissed Maisie’s forehead, stepped away from the bed, and opened Lucas’s MacBook on the small hospital tray table. It took me three attempts to log into the corporate administrative portal using my old executive credentials.
When the dashboard loaded, I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat.
The primary operating account for Holloway Home & Tool—the account holding our payroll, supplier funds, and our grandmother’s original inheritance—showed a balance of $412.32.
Worse still, the transaction history revealed a massive wire transfer executed less than forty-eight hours ago.
To an offshore account in the Cayman Islands.
May you like
Under a single name: Warren Holloway.
And attached to that transfer was a legal document I had never signed, bearing a forged digital signature in my name, permanently signing away my remaining thirty percent equity stake in the family business for the sum of exactly one dollar.
