It was a sleek, encrypted USB drive.
Julian’s face went instantly, sickeningly pale. All the color drained from his cheeks in a single heartbeat. The arrogant sneer vanished, replaced by an expression of absolute, unadulterated horror.
“Give me that,” Julian demanded, taking a frantic step forward.
Before he could take a second step, my lead security director, David, stepped out of the shadows and clamped a massive hand onto Julian’s shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“Dad,” Maya said, pressing the silver drive into my palm. Her hands were still shaking, but her eyes were fiercely locked on mine. “He didn't hit me because we had a fight. He hit me because I found his private ledger in the upstairs study. I downloaded everything.”
I looked down at the small piece of metal in my hand.
“Everything?” I asked quietly.
“The offshore accounts,” she whispered, though the acoustics of the room carried her words to the front row of the crowd. “The fake vendors. The money they’ve been funneling through my charity for the last two years to hide it from the IRS. It’s all on there.”
The ballroom exploded into chaos.
Richard Sterling let out a strangled gasp, his face turning a terrifying shade of white. Eleanor covered her mouth, stumbling backward into the crowd. The wealthy guests who had just been defending the Sterlings were suddenly backing away as if the family had caught a deadly virus.
I closed my fist around the flash drive. The pain in my knuckles disappeared, replaced by the cold, calculating thrill of absolute victory. Julian hadn't just made a mistake by putting his hands on my daughter. He had handed me the exact weapon I needed to destroy his entire empire.
“David,” I said, not taking my eyes off Julian’s terrified face. “Take Mr. Sterling and his son to the library. Keep them there. Maya and I have some reading to do.”
Chapter 2: The Evidence
The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut, blocking out the frantic shouting and the rising panic of the ballroom. The sudden quiet of the room was jarring. The air smelled of old leather and polished wood, a stark contrast to the perfume and sweat outside.
I walked straight to my mahogany desk and opened my laptop. Maya collapsed onto the leather sofa against the far wall, pulling her torn gold dress tightly around her knees. Now that the immediate danger was separated from her, the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her exhausted and shivering.
I poured a glass of water from the carafe on my desk and brought it to her.
“Drink this,” I said softly, my voice entirely different from the roar I had used in the ballroom. “You’re safe now. David won't let them out of the library.”
Maya took the glass with both hands, taking a slow sip. Her eyes were fixed on the silver flash drive I had placed on the edge of the desk.
“I didn't mean to look,” she said, her voice hollow. “I went up to his private study to find my phone. I had left it there before the guests arrived. His computer was unlocked. He had stepped out to take a call. I just glanced at the screen, Dad. That’s all I did.”
I pulled up a chair and sat across from her. “What did you see, Maya?”
“My foundation’s name,” she said, a tear finally escaping and tracking through the makeup on her bruised cheek. “But the numbers were wrong. They were massive. Millions of dollars moving into accounts I didn't recognize in the Cayman Islands, all labeled under the charity’s operational grants. He’s been using my nonprofit as a shell company to launder money for Sterling Enterprises.”
My stomach turned cold. The Sterlings had aggressively pursued this merger of our families. Richard had practically pushed Julian toward Maya. I had thought it was because Maya was brilliant, beautiful, and the heir to my logistics company.
I was wrong. It was a setup.
They needed a legitimate, high-profile charity to wash their dirty money, and they needed a naive, trusting director to sign the paperwork without understanding the financial architecture underneath. Maya was the perfect target. If the IRS ever audited the foundation, Julian’s name wouldn't be on the documents. Maya’s would be. She wasn't going to be a wife. She was going to be their scapegoat.
“When did he catch you?” I asked, my jaw tightening.
“I had my emergency flash drive on my keychain,” she explained, taking a shaky breath. “I plugged it in and started dragging the folders over. I was at ninety percent when he walked back in. He saw the screen.”
She closed her eyes, flinching away from the memory.
“He didn't even yell,” she whispered. “He just walked over, locked the door, and hit me. He hit me so hard I fell into the bookcase. He tried to grab the drive, but I kicked him and ran. I ran straight down the grand staircase into the ballroom.”