Chapter 7 — Dominic’s Secret Account
Chapter 7 — Dominic’s Secret Account
Dominic's secret account was hidden behind a name that meant nothing to me.
That was the first thing I learned.
The second was worse.
The account had been receiving money for nearly four years.
Four years.
My entire marriage.
My pregnancy.
Every dinner where Dominic had kissed my forehead and told me he loved me.
Every night he had promised me that his family would eventually accept me.
All of it existed beside a bank account I had never known about.
An account that contained millions.
And the first transfer had arrived only three weeks after our wedding.
I stared at the statement on my father's desk.
“That's his account.”
My father's investigator nodded.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Current balance?”
“Yes.”
“Eight million, four hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
My throat tightened.
I looked at Dominic.
He was sitting across the room.
His face was pale.
“I didn't know it had grown that much.”
I stared at him.
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
“It's your account.”
“I know.”
“Then how could you not know?”
He looked at me.
“Because I didn't control it.”
I laughed once.
“That's convenient.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like you're lying.”
He lowered his head.
“I understand.”
My father pushed another document across the table.
“Then explain this.”
Dominic looked down.
It was a bank authorization form.
His signature.
His photograph.
His identification.
Everything was there.
But the account holder wasn't Dominic Carlisle.
It was a company.
D.C. Strategic Holdings.
Dominic looked confused.
“I've never heard of it.”
My father said:
“You signed the incorporation documents.”
Dominic stared at the page.
“I don't remember.”
“You signed it four years ago.”
“I was told it was an investment company.”
“Who told you?”
“My mother.”
My father leaned back.
“Of course.”
I looked at Dominic.
“Why did you open it?”
“I didn't open it.”
“The documents say you did.”
“I signed papers.”
“What papers?”
“Investment paperwork.”
“With your mother?”
“Yes.”
“And you never asked what you were signing?”
“I trusted her.”
I shook my head.
“That answer is becoming very expensive.”
Dominic looked at me.
“I know.”
“You trusted her when she gave you the marriage contract.”
“Yes.”
“You trusted her when she told you my family was controlling.”
“Yes.”
“You trusted her when she told you I needed to be watched.”
His face changed.
“I didn't know she was watching you.”
“But she was.”
“Yes.”
“You trusted her when she gave you access to an account containing eight million dollars.”
“I didn't know it contained eight million.”
“Then what did you think it contained?”
He looked down.
“Maybe fifty thousand.”
I stared at him.
“Maybe?”
“I never checked.”
My father gave a bitter laugh.
“Eight million dollars and he never checked.”
Dominic didn't respond.
The investigator opened another folder.
“We traced the deposits.”
He placed a chart on the table.
There were dozens.
Small payments at first.
Then larger ones.
Then enormous transfers.
The first came from a company in Delaware.
The second from a consulting company in Nevada.
The third from an offshore entity.
I looked at the names.
None were familiar.
But one repeated.
Vale Meridian Group.
“What's that?”
The investigator answered:
“Eleanor's former employer.”
My stomach tightened.
“She worked there?”
“Years ago.”
My father looked at the chart.
“That's where she learned the structure.”
“What structure?”
“Moving assets through shell companies.”
Dominic stared at the account.
“My mother used my name.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The investigator looked at me.
“To hide the money.”
“From whom?”
“Everyone.”
I stood.
“Where did the money come from?”
The investigator hesitated.
“That's the difficult part.”
“Tell me.”
“Most of it originated from companies connected to your family's trust.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
“Not directly.”
“Then how?”
“Through intermediaries.”
My father closed his eyes.
I understood.
“They were stealing from me.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
The investigator turned another page.
“Approximately twenty-seven million dollars.”
My stomach dropped.
“Twenty-seven?”
“Over several years.”
I looked at Dominic.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
I believed him.
And somehow that made me angrier.
Because ignorance had become his excuse for everything.
He had not known.
He had not asked.
He had not checked.
He had simply trusted the people who wanted me destroyed.
Then the investigator said:
“There is one problem.”
“What?”
“Some of the money went back.”
“Back where?”
“Into the trust.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Someone transferred approximately six million dollars back into an Ashford-controlled account.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
My father leaned forward.
“When?”
The investigator gave him the dates.
My father's expression changed.
“Those were the months your mother was sick.”
I looked at him.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why would money be moved back then?”
He didn't answer.
The investigator continued.
“There was another transfer.”
“When?”
“Three days after your mother died.”
My heart stopped.
“How much?”
“Two million.”
“Where did it go?”
He looked at Dominic.
“Your husband's account.”
Dominic stood.
“No.”
The room went silent.
“I wasn't even involved with her family then.”
“Correct.”
“So how?”
“We don't know.”
Dominic stared at the statement.
“I was nineteen.”
My father looked at the investigator.
“Can the transaction be authenticated?”
“Yes.”
“Then who authorized it?”
The investigator placed a signature beside the transaction.
My heart stopped.
It wasn't Dominic's.
It wasn't my father's.
It wasn't Eleanor's.
It was my mother's.
I couldn't speak.
“My mother transferred two million dollars to Dominic?”
“Technically, yes.”
“But Dominic didn't know.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
I looked at my father.
“Did Mom know Dominic?”
“Not well.”
“Then why would she send him money?”
“I don't know.”
I shook my head.
“She couldn't have.”
The investigator looked at me.
“Why?”
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
“Yes.”
“This transaction happened when Dominic was nineteen.”
“Yes.”
“How could she send him money?”
Nobody answered.
I felt a chill move through me.
“Because she wasn't dead.”
My father stood abruptly.
“Vivienne.”
I looked at him.
“Was she?”
He stared at me.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered:
“She died.”
“Then someone used her account.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
My father looked at the investigator.
The investigator said:
“We've been trying to find out.”
Dominic walked toward me.
“Vivienne.”
I stepped back.
He stopped.
“I swear to you, I never knew about that money.”
“I know.”
“You believe me?”
“I believe you didn't know.”
He looked relieved.
Then I added:
“But that doesn't mean I trust you.”
His expression fell.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You've spent years telling me you didn't know what your family was doing.”
“I know.”
“And every time, you were right.”
He looked at me.
“But you were also standing beside them.”
He lowered his head.
“I know.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
That evening, we discovered another secret.
The account had a second authorized user.
Not Eleanor.
Not Dominic.
Not Martin.
A woman.
The name appeared in the banking records as:
Victoria Hale.
I frowned.
“Who is Victoria Hale?”
My father looked at the investigator.
The investigator shook his head.
“We don't know.”
“Then find her.”
“We're trying.”
“Where does she live?”
“We found an address.”
“Where?”
“Colorado.”
My heart skipped.
“Denver?”
“Yes.”
My hometown.
My father's expression hardened.
“When can we leave?”
“Tonight.”
Dominic stood.
“I'm coming.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“Vivienne…”
“No.”
“This involves me.”
“It involves everyone.”
“I need to know the truth too.”
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
My father looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
I smiled bitterly.
“But I've stopped waiting to be sure.”
We arrived in Denver after midnight.
The address belonged to a small house on a quiet street.
No security.
No gates.
No luxury.
Nothing like the world surrounding the Ashford family.
We knocked.
No answer.
We knocked again.
Then the door opened.
A woman stood there.
Late forties.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
She stared at me.
And immediately began crying.
I froze.
“Do I know you?”
She whispered:
“No.”
“Then why are you crying?”
She looked at my father.
“Richard.”
My father went pale.
“Victoria.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“Who is she?”
Victoria looked at him.
Then at me.
“I've been waiting for you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
She opened the door wider.
“Because your mother told me you would come.”
The world stopped.
“My mother?”
Victoria nodded.
“She knew this day would happen.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“Before she died.”
“Who are you?”
Victoria's eyes filled with tears.
“I was your mother's closest friend.”
I looked at my father.
He seemed unable to speak.
Victoria continued:
“And I was there the night you were born.”
My heart began pounding.
“You knew Daniel.”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
She looked toward Dominic.
Then back at me.
“Your mother's brother.”
“My uncle.”
“Yes.”
“But my father said he died.”
Victoria nodded.
“He did.”
“Then why was he at the hospital?”
She looked at my father.
“Because he wasn't supposed to be there.”
I felt dizzy.
“What does that mean?”
Victoria stepped aside.
“Come inside.”
The living room was filled with photographs.
My mother.
My father.
Daniel.
And me.
As a baby.
I walked toward one.
It showed my mother holding me.
Beside her stood Daniel.
He was smiling.
My father was nowhere in the photograph.
I touched the frame.
“Who took this?”
“Daniel.”
“When?”
“The day after you were born.”
I turned.
“Where was my father?”
Victoria looked at him.
“He wasn't there.”
I stared at my father.
“Dad?”
He said nothing.
Victoria whispered:
“Because he was in another city.”
“Why?”
“He was following the money.”
“What money?”
“The money that disappeared from the trust.”
My breathing quickened.
“Then why was Daniel at the hospital?”
Victoria looked at me.
“Because your mother asked him to protect you.”
“From whom?”
Victoria's eyes moved toward Dominic.
Then back to me.
“From the people who wanted you dead.”
Dominic went completely still.
“What?”
Victoria continued.
“Your mother knew the trust was being attacked.”
“By whom?”
“She believed someone inside the family was responsible.”
“Who?”
Victoria shook her head.
“She never told me.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was afraid.”
I stepped closer.
“Afraid of whom?”
Victoria whispered:
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
I turned slowly.
My father looked at me.
“Vivienne…”
I couldn't speak.
Victoria continued.
“She didn't know who she could trust.”
My father closed his eyes.
“She believed your father might be involved.”
I stared at him.
“Were you?”
He looked devastated.
“No.”
“Then why did she suspect you?”
“Because someone forged evidence.”
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“I never found out.”
Victoria disappeared into another room.
She returned with a small wooden box.
She placed it on the table.
“This was your mother's.”
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
My name was written on the envelope.
Not “Vivienne.”
Not “My daughter.”
Just:
For the woman you will become.
My hands shook.
I opened it.
The handwriting was unmistakably my mother's.
If you are reading this, then someone has finally told you about the trust.
I stopped.
Dominic looked away.
I continued.
There are people who will tell you that money destroyed our family.
They are wrong.
Fear destroyed our family.
My eyes filled with tears.
Your grandfather trusted the wrong people.
Your father trusted the wrong people.
And I trusted someone I should never have trusted.
I looked at my father.
He was crying.
I continued.
If they come for you, don't trust the person who tells you they are protecting you.
My breathing became shallow.
The final line made my blood freeze.
Especially if that person is someone you love.
The letter ended there.
I lowered it.
“Who was she talking about?”
Victoria whispered:
“She never told me.”
I looked at my father.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
I looked at Dominic.
He shook his head.
“No.”
Then I noticed something.
There was a second page.
It had been folded behind the first.
I opened it.
Three words were written across it.
THE RING KNOWS.
My heart stopped.
The next morning, we returned to my father's house.
The ring was still in police custody.
The original ring remained missing.
But we now knew something.
The replica wasn't random.
Someone had created it specifically to lure us toward the truth.
Someone wanted me to investigate.
And someone had used Dominic's secret account to make sure I would find it.
My father gathered everyone in the study.
The investigator.
The lawyers.
Dominic.
Me.
He placed the bank records on the table.
“Victoria Hale wasn't the second authorized user by accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was connected to your mother's estate.”
I frowned.
“My mother had an estate?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because it was sealed.”
“By whom?”
My father looked at me.
“Your mother.”
“Why?”
“She didn't want the money released until you were twenty-five.”
I stared at him.
“How much?”
“Nothing compared to the trust.”
“How much?”
“Six million dollars.”
I exhaled.
“Then why hide it?”
“Because the estate wasn't really money.”
“What was it?”
My father placed one final document on the table.
A photograph was attached.
It showed an old storage facility.
Underneath was an address.
And beside it, a handwritten note.
Locker 217.
My father said:
“Your mother left something there.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“We don't know.”
“Then let's find out.”
Dominic stood.
“I'll come.”
I looked at him.
“You're still coming?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because I have spent too many years believing other people knew what was best for me.”
He paused.
“And because whatever is inside that locker may finally tell me whether my mother used me…”
He swallowed.
“…or whether I was part of this from the beginning.”
I didn't answer.
But I didn't tell him no.
Because the truth was becoming too large for any one person to carry.
Three hours later, we stood outside Locker 217.
My father held the key.
He looked at me.
“Are you ready?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Neither am I.”
The lock opened.
The door rolled upward.
Inside was a single metal box.
No money.
No jewelry.
No documents.
Just a photograph.
I picked it up.
My mother was standing beside Daniel.
They were holding a newborn baby.
Me.
But in the background stood another person.
A man whose face had been deliberately scratched away.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
The day I was born.
And beneath it, four words:
HE IS STILL ALIVE.
My blood ran cold.
Dominic whispered:
“Who?”
My father stared at the photograph.
Then he said the one thing I never expected to hear.
“I know him.”
I turned toward him.
“Who is he?”
My father looked at me.
His voice broke.
“Your uncle Daniel.”
I stared at him.
“That can't be.”
“He died twenty-one years ago.”
“Then why does this say he's alive?”
My father didn't answer.
Because behind us, somewhere in the dark hallway of the storage facility—
a door slammed.
And when we turned around, the man standing at the end of the corridor looked exactly like the photograph.
Daniel.
Alive.
May you like
Watching us.
And smiling.
