Chapter 6

At midnight, in the small upstairs study with the door locked, Silas Voss laid my father’s trust file on the desk. The storm had weakened, but rain still tapped the windows like impatient fingers.

“The trust holds thirty-four percent,” he said. “But Marcus knew Helena would try to break it. So he added a codicil. If the trustee proves that Helena embezzled from the Kestrel charitable trust or interfered with this trust through fraud, her Class A voting rights suspend until the matter is resolved.”

I sat down slowly. “Suspend.”

“Yes. Her shares remain hers financially, but they cannot be voted by her. The trustee controls them during the suspension. With your thirty-four percent, that gives us effective control.”

“Why didn’t he just leave me the majority?”

Voss’s expression shifted. “Because he wanted to protect you from exactly what happened. If Helena believed you had majority control, she would have destroyed you years ago. He made it a trap she had to spring herself.”

He opened the file and took out a second letter, this one written in 2013. My father’s handwriting was darker, pressed harder into the page.

Helena has been taking money from the Kestrel charitable trust. Four million dollars over three years, moved through a donor-advised fund and into accounts she controls. I have proof enough for a civil case, but not enough to survive the scandal while I am alive. If she ever moves against Tamsin’s trust, use this. The bank records are held by my assistant, Margaret Doyle, at Puget Mutual. She has instructions to release them only if the trust is challenged.

I read the paragraph twice. Four million dollars. My mother-my adoptive mother-had stood in front of donors and talked about maritime scholarships while stealing from the charity that funded them.

“Do we have Margaret?” I asked.

“She left the company two years ago,” Voss said. “Helena forced her out. But she still lives in Edmonds. She may still have the records.”

Helena’s voice echoed in my memory: You were never special. You were administrative support. She had said it in front of four hundred people. She had meant it. But Marcus had known who she really was, and he had left me the means to prove it.

I picked up my phone. “Then we find Margaret before Helena does.”

Voss shook his head. “Helena has already escalated. Her lawyer filed a foreclosure notice on Port Blakely an hour ago. Black Tern claims Kestrel Maritime defaulted on the lease. If she gets a court order tomorrow, she can shut the yard and blame you for the jobs.”

Three thousand eight hundred workers. My father’s dry docks. My name on a forged guarantee.

“Then we don’t just defend,” I said. “We set a trap of our own.”