A sharp knock broke through the quiet. I froze halfway to the kettle, a rush of nerves spiking before I heard his voice.
"It's me. Open up."
I unlocked the door to find Brandon standing there, a paper bag in one hand, a cardboard tray of coffee in the other. The winter air still clung to him, and for the first time since last night, I felt something close to relief.
"I brought breakfast," he said, stepping past me without waiting for an invitation. "And I'm not just here for coffee and croissants."
I frowned, shutting the door. "Brandon —"
"I can help, Amelia." He set the bag on the counter, meeting my eyes with a steadiness that made my chest tighten. "You said your solicitors are digging into the company's accounts. That's my world. Financial markets, data analysis… I see things other people miss."
"It's complicated," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "And it's not your problem."
"It is if it's hurting you." His voice was calm but unyielding. "I'm not going to sit around and watch you go through this alone."
I shook my head. "I don't want you getting dragged into this mess —"
"You're not getting rid of me that easily," he interrupted gently, but firmly. "I'm in."
Something in his tone told me he wouldn't back down. I let out a breath, feeling the faintest crack in my resolve.
"Fine," I said at last, moving toward the desk. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
Within minutes, my laptop was open between us, the accounts pulled up. I sat beside him, feeling strangely exposed as he began scrolling through columns of numbers and transaction logs with the quiet, precise focus I'd come to recognise.
If anyone could unravel this, it would be Brandon. But letting him in like this — into this part of my life — felt more dangerous than anything Mark had ever done.
---
Brandon's POV
The numbers rolled past on the screen, columns of dates, amounts, and account references. Most people would've seen a blur of meaningless figures. But for me, patterns always emerged — little inconsistencies, anomalies that didn't sit right.
"Your company didn't just bleed money," I said slowly, scrolling back to double-check. "Someone carved it open and drained it in a methodical manner."
Amelia sat stiffly beside me, her hands wrapped around her coffee like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. "What do you mean?"
I tapped the trackpad, highlighting three identical transfers spaced exactly two weeks apart. "These are small enough not to trigger immediate suspicion, but they add up —quietly. The amounts change slightly each time, but the reference code is always one digit off. That's intentional. It's… careful."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't speak.
I kept digging. The more I looked, the more the pattern grew — a web of repeated transfers, some disguised as vendor payments, others hidden under vague expense categories. Then something else caught my eye. "These receiving accounts… they're in different names, but the routing path is almost identical.".
When I glanced at Amelia, her face was pale, unreadable.
"You've seen something like this before," I said quietly.
She shook her head, but it wasn't convincing. Her gaze had gone somewhere far away, to a place I couldn't follow — at least not yet. But I felt it: there was more here than just corporate theft. This was personal.
I leaned back in the chair, rubbing the tension from my temples. "If it is your parents… then the question isn't how they did it. It's why."
Amelia's hands tightened into fists on the edge of the table. She wasn't just staring at the numbers now — she was staring through them, like she could burn a hole right through the betrayal.
"They built this company," she said, her voice trembling but steadying with each word. "It was theirs before it was mine. I was just the face. The one they could parade around in meetings and point to when things went well. I thought I was running it… but I was just holding the wheel while they decided where the car was going."
I turned toward her. "So why take it apart? Why strip it for cash and leave you holding the bag?"
Her laugh was sharp and bitter. "Because they could. Because they knew I'd never see it coming. Maybe they thought I'd fold. Cry. Give up." Her jaw set. "But I didn't give up when Mark tried to crush me, and I'm sure as hell not folding now."
"Could it be debt?" I asked carefully. "A bad investment? Something they needed quick, quiet cash for?"
"Or maybe they just didn't want me in the way," she shot back. "Drain the company, frame me for the mess, and suddenly I'm the liability they don't have to deal with. And they get to play happy retirees in Bali while I take the fall."
The idea was ugly, but it made too much sense. They'd been gone for ten months — plenty of time to orchestrate everything from a safe distance.
"They couldn't have done it without banking details, passwords, security codes," I said. "Things only a director or founder would know."
Her shoulders rose, not in defeat but in defiance. "They gave me this company like it was a gift, Brandon. Told me I was the reason they built it. But it wasn't a gift — it was bait. And I've spent enough of my life running from people who wanted to control me. I'm not running this time. Not from them."
I reached over, resting my hand on hers, feeling the tension in her grip. "If this is them, we'll prove it. And when we do, they won't be able to hide behind palm trees and cocktails."
Her gaze locked on mine, and I saw the same thing I'd seen in her the day she faced Mark — fear, yes, but built over with steel.
She exhaled slowly, the fury in her eyes cooling into something sharper — calculation.
"Alright. If they thought they could make me look like the clueless daughter who couldn't manage her own company, then let's show them what I can actually do."
I nodded, sensing the turn in her tone. "Where do we start?"
"We don't go after them directly. Not yet."
She turned her laptop back toward her and began pulling up archived emails, invoices, and account records.
"First, we map everything. The transactions, the timings, the recipients. You said you can see patterns others might miss?"
"That's my entire job," I replied, already leaning forward, scanning the screen with her. "If they moved that much money, they would've had to cover their tracks. Shell companies, fake accounts. They'd need layers to hide behind."
Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "Good. Then we'll peel back every layer until there's nothing left but their names."
I could see her body tightening with the same resolve I'd seen when we'd hiked off that mountain. She'd been limping, exhausted, in pain — but she hadn't stopped. And she wasn't going to stop now.
"Once we have proof," she continued, "I want to hand it to the police, the press, anyone who'll listen. If they're going to betray me, then they can live with the world knowing exactly what they did."
I gave a slow smile. "They taught you to play their game. They just didn't expect you to play it better."
Her mouth twitched — half grimace, half smirk. "What they don't know is I've already survived worse."