Chapter 9 - The Wrong Kind of Truth
Alisa leaned against the piano. "You locked my father inside?"
"No," Gideon said quickly. "I locked a gate because Silas told me thieves were getting in. I didn't know Walter would come that night."
"You knew he was coming," Adrian said from the doorway. "He wrote it in his letter."
Gideon turned on him. "Your grandfather was stubborn. He wanted to confront me about money he didn't understand."
"Money that belonged to other people," Alisa said.
Gideon's face hardened. "I saved this family after Walter nearly bankrupted it. You live in the house I built. You enjoy the schools, the vacations, the charitable galas. None of that happened by accident."
"Neither did the fire," she replied.
For a moment, Adrian saw his father's usual authority crack into something uglier: fear with nowhere to go.
Ortiz entered, accompanied by a woman in a charcoal suit. "This is Iris Lane, counsel for the Rowan Community Trust. She's here at Ms. Ashcroft's request."
Iris explained that a developer had scheduled a final payment for six that evening. Rowan House was listed as the security for a large loan. The tenants had already received eviction notices that morning.
"Can we stop it?" Tessa asked.
"We can request an emergency order based on the forged consent," Iris replied. "The money trail will be contested."
Gideon laughed once. "You think a few bruises and a thirty-year-old letter will overturn a signed transaction?"
"No," Iris said. "I think the originals will."
Alisa looked at her husband. "Do we still have Walter's old mill ledgers?"
"They burned."
"Then why," she asked, "does your accountant bill this house every month for climate-controlled storage in my father's name?"
May you like
Gideon's phone buzzed. He glanced down, and all the color left his face.
Silas had sent a photograph of a narrow metal door. Painted across it were two words: NORTH GATE.
