accused me of stealing in front of eighty people.
Now I was sitting in Naomi’s sedan with a swollen face and a fourteen-million-dollar patent assignment in my hands.
“Can they sell it?” I asked.
“Not lawfully,” Naomi answered.
“The patent is held by North Quay’s intellectual property subsidiary.
Voss Coastal has a limited license.
Graham knows the difference because he signed the agreement.”
“Then why would Harbor Meridian consider paying him?”
“Because somebody has supplied them with documentation claiming the rights were transferred.”
I closed my eyes.
“Bianca.”
“Possibly.
We need proof before we make an accusation.”
That was Naomi’s greatest strength.
She was never impressed by rage, wealth, or threats.
She wanted documents, dates, and witnesses.
At the hospital that night, a physician examined the injury to my face and recorded what had happened.
I gave a statement to a police officer and requested information about available protective measures.
Naomi arranged for the estate’s security footage to be preserved by the property company’s authorized security manager, Noelle Brooks.
Noelle had worked at Saltmere House for fourteen years.
When she called me, her voice sounded strained.
“Mrs.
Voss, I’m sorry.
I should have stepped in sooner.”
“You preserved the footage?”
“Yes.
Both cameras near the ballroom entrance.
And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Miss Shaw asked me yesterday whether the older recordings were automatically erased.”
I sat up straighter.
“Did she say which recordings?”
“She asked specifically about the private study.”
My stomach tightened.
The private study was where my mother’s original notebooks had been stored while I arranged for their transfer to a secure archive.
Only three people had been allowed inside that room.
Me.
Noelle.
And Graham.
I thanked Noelle and told her to preserve every relevant record without confronting anyone.
The following morning, I arrived at North Quay’s Newport office wearing a charcoal suit and dark glasses.
I had barely slept.
But the exhaustion seemed distant compared with the necessity of protecting what Graham was attempting to take.
At 7:16 a.m., my phone began ringing.
Graham.
I declined the call.
He called again.
And again.
At 7:42, he sent a message.
The investors are panicking.
Whatever stunt you’re pulling, stop it immediately.
Naomi read the message and placed her tablet on the conference table.
“He’s discovered that the bank has paused new advances under the credit agreement.”
“Is there enough money for payroll?” I asked.
“Yes.
Existing operating funds remain available.
We’ve asked for an independent controller to oversee outgoing payments during the investigation.”
“Good.
Nobody loses their wages because Graham wanted to punish me.”
At eight o’clock, the independent auditor arrived.
His name was Daniel Mercer, a precise man with silver-rimmed glasses and an almost unnerving calm.
He opened the first folder.
“Sable Point Logistics was incorporated seventeen months ago,” he explained.
“The registered contact information leads to a business managed by Bianca Shaw’s brother, Trevor Shaw.”
He displayed the payment records.
“Three invoices.
No verified work.
And the approval form bears a questionable signature attributed to Mrs.
Voss.”
I studied the page.
“The company had my signature specimen from the licensing files.”
Daniel nodded.
“Which would explain how someone copied its appearance.
But the document history also indicates the approval file was created on Bianca’s company laptop.”
“Can you prove that?”
“We’ve preserved the relevant audit
