Chapter 3

America Holland POV:

The Cape May house smelled of cedar and salt water in every childhood memory I had.

My father spent six months refinishing the oak floorboards in the living room after my mother died. He built a stone fireplace with river rocks we collected together on the beach.

Now Khloe Rose intended to paint the walls white and host weekend champagne mixers for Caden's investor syndicate.

The cab dropped me outside the polished granite entrance of Price & Sterling. I took the private elevator directly to the forty-second floor.

Joelle Price stood behind a massive conference table covered in thick financial binders and forensic bank statements. Her dark hair was tied into a severe bun, and her tailored navy suit looked like armor.

"Sit down, America," Joelle said, sliding a bottle of water across the glass table. "You look like you haven't slept in forty-eight hours."

"I haven't," I said, placing the black hard drive and the plastic evidence bag with the Apex business card on the table.

Joelle put on latex gloves before touching the card.

"The technician just arrived in the back lab," she said. "He will process the paper for latent prints and run the ink through chemical dating."

She opened a leather-bound folder and pushed a five-page document toward me.

"Take a look at this," Joelle said. "Our forensic accountant traced the short-selling activity on Holland Industries stock over the last ninety days."

I picked up the document. The graphs showed an aggressive, systematic dumping of Holland shares starting precisely three weeks before our major government contract bid. The funds executing the short sales operated through three offshore shell entities registered in the Cayman Islands.

"Who owns these holding companies?" I asked.

"Crawford Capital Offshore Holdings," Joelle said, her voice chillingly calm. "Caden didn't just pull the credit lines, America. He actively organized the short squeeze that drove your father's stock price below the Nasdaq compliance threshold. He forced your suppliers to demand immediate cash payments because he fabricated an audit report showing Holland Industries was on the verge of default."

My hands rested flat on the cool table.

I remembered the night Caden came home three weeks ago. He brought a bottle of Bordeaux wine and kissed my temple while I cooked dinner. He told me he was working on an international partnership that would relieve our financial worries forever.

All while his offshore accounts were driving the final nails into my father's coffin.

"Why would he go that far?" I whispered. "Holland Industries was worth fifty million dollars at peak."

"Caden didn't want the company," Joelle said. "He wanted the proprietary compression algorithm your father patented four years ago. Khloe Rose's startup couldn't secure the defense contract without that specific patent. By bankrupting your father, Caden planned to buy the patent portfolio at a bankruptcy auction for pennies on the dollar. Then he would transfer the ownership to Khloe's new entity, positioning her as the wunderkind of the tech sector."

"He destroyed an innocent man's life to play god for his sponsored protege," I said.

"We are upgrading our filing," Joelle said firmly. "This is no longer a standard divorce and asset partition. We are filing emergency civil racketeering charges, corporate espionage, and tortious interference. And once the police process the Apex card, we refer the manslaughter file to the District Attorney."

"I need one more piece of evidence," I said. "My father's personal medical monitoring logs. He wore a digital heart monitor connected to a base station in our guest bedroom at the Crawford estate. The baseline readings will prove his heart was stable until the morning the thugs forced their way into his office."

"Are you sure you want to go back there?" Joelle asked. "Caden's mother is staying at the manor this week."

"I don't care who is there," I said. "I am getting my father's records."

I took a car service to the Crawford estate in Greenwich.

The wrought-iron gates were unlocked. I walked up the stone pathway toward the Georgian brick mansion where I had lived for seven years.

The heavy mahogany front door opened before I could reach for my key.

Eleonore Crawford stood in the center of the marble foyer, holding a porcelain teacup in her ringed hand. She wore a gray cashmere sweater and pearl earrings, looking at me with cold appraisal.

Khloe Rose sat on the silk sofa in the drawing room behind her, pouring hot water from a silver pot.

"I thought Caden revoked your gate clearance," Eleonore said without greeting me.

"I came to pack my things," I said.

"You have no business here, America," Eleonore said, stepping into my path. "Your father's vulgar business failures have brought enough embarrassment to this family. Caden had to field calls from three board members this afternoon because your father couldn't manage his debts."

"My father died this morning, Eleonore," I said evenly.

Eleonore took a slow sip of her tea.

"People of his station always struggle when real pressure mounts," she said smoothly. "It is regrettable, but Caden is not an emergency charity for failing merchants."

Khloe walked over, carrying a leather portfolio under her arm.

"America, we were actually waiting for you," Khloe said, offering a sweet, concerned look. "Caden authorized me to present this settlement release."

She handed the folder toward me. I opened it.

The document was an intellectual property surrender form and a total release of legal liability. In exchange for two hundred thousand dollars toward "funeral expenses," I would waive all claims to the Holland patent registry and agree to an immediate, uncontested divorce with zero alimony.

"Two hundred thousand dollars is a very generous offer for an estate with negative net worth," Eleonore noted with a condescending sneer. "Khloe convinced Caden to provide that out of pity. Sign it, pack your clothes, and leave through the service entrance."

I looked down at the paper, then back at Eleonore's wrinkled, powdered face.

"Two hundred thousand dollars for thirty years of proprietary software that Caden is trying to sell for fifty million?" I asked.

"You should be grateful for crumbs after the disgrace your family caused," Eleonore snapped. "My son gave you a seat at the Crawford table when you were nothing more than a middle-class coder. You repaid him by dragging his name into your father's gutter."

I tore the agreement in half. I tore it into four pieces and let the white scraps fall onto the polished foyer floor.

"Get out of my way," I said.

I moved toward the grand staircase. Khloe stepped forward to grab my wrist, but I jerked my arm back and shoved her shoulder. She stumbled against the console table, knocking over a crystal vase that shattered across the parquet.

"America! How dare you!" Eleonore shrieked.

The heavy front door swung open with a violent slam. Caden walked into the foyer, his eyes widening as he took in the torn papers and the broken glass.

Khloe immediately dropped to her knees, clutching her elbow and letting out a soft sob.

"Caden..." Khloe cried, looking up with wide, tearful eyes. "We only wanted to help her pay for the burial..."

Caden looked from Khloe on the floor to the torn documents, then fixed his gaze on me like a predator.

"Did you lay hands on her in my house?" Caden asked in a terrifying whisper.