Chapter 3 - The Secret Vault in the Basement
"They didn't just try to get rid of Maisie for a beauty pageant," I said, my voice trembling as I spun the laptop around to show Lucas. "They cleared out the entire company account. They liquidated my inheritance, forged my signature on the equity transfer, and left us flat broke."
Lucas stood up, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. "They planned this. The engagement party wasn't just a celebration—it was a distraction. They needed you occupied with guests, food, and social obligations so they could finalize the asset stripping before filing the paperwork on Monday."
"And when Maisie cried, when she disrupted their perfect little timeline..." I looked back at my sleeping daughter, a fresh wave of protective fury washing over me. "They treated her like trash because she was standing in the way of their escape plan."
"We’re not going home," Lucas said, grabbing his car keys. "We’re going to the store. Before Sterling gets a court order to seal the premises, we need to secure the physical paper records from your father’s office."
Forty minutes later, we pulled up behind Holloway Home & Tool. The police tape was still stretched across the rear loading door, but the front entrance remained unlocked. The store was dead silent, the folding chairs from Sadie's beauty competition still scattered haphazardly across the event room, surrounded by wilted pink balloons and trampled gold streamers.
We hurried up the stairs to the executive suite.
Warren’s office was a shrine to his own ego—heavy mahogany furniture, leather-bound law books, and framed photographs of him shaking hands with local politicians.
"Check the safe behind the painting," I instructed, pulling a heavy oil portrait of our grandfather off the wall to reveal a digital keypad built into the wood paneling.
"Do you know the code?" Lucas asked.
"Dad used to use Grandma's birth year followed by our old dog’s name," I muttered, typing in the sequence: 1-9-4-5-R-O-X-Y.
The heavy steel door clicked and swung open.
Inside weren't just company tax returns or stock certificates. Neatly stacked inside a velvet-lined compartment were three thick folders labeled with names I recognized: Tessa, Warren, Elaine...
And one labeled Maya.
I pulled my folder out first. Inside were documents that made my blood run cold: hospital birth records from the night I was born, adoption papers marked with government stamps, and a certified DNA lineage report dated three weeks ago.
I opened the front page, and the words hit me like a physical blow.
Genetic Match Verification: Maya Holloway. Paternity Exclusion: Warren Holloway (0.0% Probability).
May you like
I wasn't Warren's daughter.
And beneath my folder, tucked into the back of the safe, was a flash drive labeled simply: Holloway Logistics - Black Book.
