CHAPTER 66.
Kate sank onto the edge of her bed, the weight of what she'd discovered in the east wing pressing down on her chest. Her hands trembled slightly as she scrolled through her contacts and pressed Tina's name.
The phone barely rang once before Tina's familiar voice filled the silence.
"Hey, babe."
"Hi," Kate managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What's wrong? You sound terrible."
Kate closed her eyes, trying to find the words. "Tina, I... I found something today. Something about my parents' company, and I don't know what to do with it."
"Tell me. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together."
"Uncle Carlos—" Kate's voice cracked. She took a shaky breath. "He tricked them. Before they died, he got them to sign over the company. But not to him—to the SE."
The silence on the other end stretched for several heartbeats.
"Jesus, Kate. Are you absolutely certain?"
"I saw the documents myself." Kate's free hand moved instinctively to her still-flat stomach.
"Have you told William?"
"Yes…. He also found out about it recently from an old associate of uncle Carlos."
"Okay. We will figure it all out."
"Everything I thought I knew about my family, about what happened... it's all been a lie."
"Okay, listen to me." Tina's voice took on that steady, grounding tone Kate had come to depend on. "I know this feels overwhelming, but you can't let it break you. Not when you've come this far."
"I'm so tired, Tina. Every time I think I'm getting closer to the truth, it just gets worse. Part of me wants to walk away from all of this."
"But you won't. You know you won't." Tina paused. "And you can't—not just for you, but for the baby. They deserve to know the truth about their grandparents."
Kate felt tears she'd been holding back finally spill over. "I'm scared."
"I know you are. But you're not alone in this, okay? We'll figure out what to do about the SE. We'll find a way."
"Thank you," Kate whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Lucky for you, you'll never have to find out. I love you, Kate."
"Love you too."
As the call ended, Kate stared at her phone for a long moment, Tina's words echoing in her mind. She placed her hand over her stomach and made a silent promise—whatever it took, she would uncover the whole truth.
—
Carlos leaned back in his leather chair, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as his phone buzzed. He didn't need to check the caller ID.
"I knew you'd call back, Hemsworth."
There was a pause on the other end, followed by the sound of measured breathing. When Hemsworth finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled.
"The documents you showed me—I need to know they're authentic. Because if we're going to move forward with this..."
"Are you questioning my integrity?" Carlos's tone sharpened. "Every signature, every seal, every clause—it's all legitimate. You think I'd risk everything on forgeries?"
"I've seen your handiwork before, Carlos. You're not above... creative documentation when it serves your purposes."
Carlos's jaw tightened. "This isn't some backroom deal, Hemsworth. The papers speak for themselves. His signature is right there, witnessed and notarized. Unless you're suggesting I somehow coerced a dead man into signing."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken implications.
"Here's how this works," Hemsworth said finally, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "If what you're telling me is true, if those documents hold up under scrutiny, then yes—I'll provide the support you need. But Carlos..." He paused for effect. "If I discover you've played me, if any of this falls apart because you cut corners or fabricated evidence, the consequences will be…"
"You're worrying about the wrong thing, Hemsworth. The question isn't whether the documents are real—it's whether you have the stomach to see this through." Carlos cut him off.
The line went dead, leaving Carlos staring at his phone. He set it down slowly, his smirk returning. Everything was falling into place exactly as he'd planned.
—
Thunder rolled across the Greensville skyline as rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of William's corner office. The storm transformed the city into a watercolor blur—silver streaks cascading down glass, distorting the lights below into abstract patterns.
William stood motionless before the window, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets, watching the world continue its oblivious dance thirty floors beneath him. He'd always found storms oddly comforting, but tonight the weather seemed to mirror the tempest brewing in his own life.
His phone buzzed against the mahogany desk behind him.
Then again.
And again.
William closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath before turning away from the window. The phone's screen lit up with a message from Liam's temporary replacement:
*"Sir, the board is calling for an emergency session. They want answers. Tonight."*
Before he could even process the implications, another notification flashed across the screen:
*"You need to see this. NOW."*
The attached link felt like a loaded gun in his hands.
William's thumb hovered over it for a moment before he pressed down, and his world tilted on its axis.
"WILLIAM DRAY LINKED TO ILLEGAL SHIPPING NETWORK? EXCLUSIVE LEAKS SAY YES."
The headline sprawled across his screen in bold, accusatory letters. Below it, a carousel of images: grainy surveillance photos of him at the Port of Greensville from months ago, taken during routine inspections but now presented with sinister implications. Doctored shipping manifests bore what looked disturbingly like his signature. Financial records—clearly manipulated—suggested money flowing through offshore accounts he'd never opened.
The article was a masterpiece of selective editing and strategic omissions. Every legitimate business meeting had been recontextualized as something clandestine. Every routine signature twisted into evidence of corruption.
William's grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles went white.
"Carlos." The name escaped his lips like a curse, barely audible above the rain hammering against the windows.
The timing was surgical in its precision. Just as he and Kate were getting closer to the truth about her parents' company, just as they were beginning to unravel Carlos's web of deception—this.
His phone buzzed again. Then again. Messages flooded in from business partners, friends—some offering support, others demanding explanations, a few already distancing themselves from the scandal.
William set the phone face-down on his desk and returned to the window. In the glass's reflection, he could see his own face—tired, older somehow than it had been that morning. But beneath the exhaustion, something else flickered.
Determination.
"Two can play this game, Carlos," he murmured to his reflection, watching lightning fork across the storm-darkened sky. "But you just made this personal."
__
William pushed through the boardroom doors with barely contained fury.
Half the board had already assembled, their hushed conversations dying the moment he appeared. The tension was thick enough to cut—some members avoided his gaze entirely, others watched him with the morbid fascination of spectators at an accident.
Mr Hemsworth sat at the far end of the polished table, perfectly composed, his fingers steepled as if he were attending a routine quarterly review rather than what amounted to a corporate execution.
"Well," William said, his voice cutting through the silence as he tossed the crumpled newspaper onto the mahogany surface. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. You could have scheduled this for tomorrow, giving me time to prepare a proper defense. But I suppose there's something to be said for striking while the iron's hot."
"Sit down, William." Mr Hemsworth's tone was measured, almost paternal. "We all know why we're here."
"Do we?" William remained standing, his hands gripping the back of his chair. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like we're here because someone—" his eyes swept the room, lingering on Hemsworth, "—decided that unverified tabloid gossip was grounds for corporate coup."
Margaret Chen, the longest-serving board member, shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "William, the stock price dropped eight percent in the first hour after the story broke. Our investors are panicking. The phones haven't stopped ringing."
William's jaw tightened. These people—some of whom he'd known for years, had dinner with, had trusted—were looking at him like a stranger. Like a criminal.
"Eight percent," he repeated slowly, finally lowering himself into his chair. "Based on what? Doctored photos? Forged documents? Has anyone in this room actually looked at the evidence, or are we operating purely on mob mentality now?"
"The evidence is concerning," Hemsworth said, sliding a folder across the table. "These aren't just random allegations, William. There are financial records, shipping manifests with your signature—"
"Forged signatures," William interrupted, his voice rising despite his efforts to stay calm. "Anyone with basic photo manipulation skills could have created those documents. Hell, my intern could have done a better job."
"Can you prove they're forged?" This from David Torres, the newest board member—young, ambitious, and clearly looking to align himself with whoever came out on top.
William stared at him for a long moment. The betrayal wasn't unexpected, but it still stung. "Can you prove they're real?"
The room fell silent except for the rain still pattering against the windows.
Hemsworth leaned back in his chair, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Here's what's going to happen, William. You have forty-eight hours to provide concrete evidence that clears your name. If you can't..." He spread his hands in a gesture of mock sympathy. "Well, the board will have no choice but to call for a vote of no confidence."
William felt something cold settle in his chest. He looked around the table at faces he'd once considered allies, searching for even a hint of support. Margaret wouldn't meet his eyes. David was already checking his phone. Others stared at the table or out the windows.
Only Hemsworth looked directly at him, and in that gaze, William saw something that made his blood run cold. This wasn't about the scandal at all. This was orchestrated.
"Forty-eight hours," William repeated quietly. "For allegations that surfaced three hours ago, based on evidence that would take weeks to properly investigate." He stood slowly, straightening his tie. "You know what, Hemsworth? You're right. This isn't about clearing my name."
He moved toward the door, then paused, his hand on the handle.
"But if you think I'm going down without a fight, you don't know me as well as you think you do."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving the board members to sit in uncomfortable silence with their choices.