Chapter 3 - The Complaints That Vanished
Victor spent the afternoon in the estate library with two attorneys and an investigator.
Grace spent it wondering whether she still had a job.
No one had formally disciplined her, but being praised by a billionaire in front of coworkers was almost as uncomfortable as being threatened by a security guard.
Some employees smiled at her.
Others avoided her.
At two o’clock, Malcolm found her polishing the brass rail of the west staircase.
“Mr. Whitmore would like to speak with you.”
Grace kept polishing.
“Is that a request?”
Malcolm smiled faintly.
“He specifically told me to make sure it sounded like one.”
That surprised her.
She followed him to Adrian’s study.
The room was darker than the rest of Whitmore House. Walnut shelves. Green leather chairs. A massive desk facing French windows.
Adrian stood beside the fireplace without a jacket.
The transformation from beggar to billionaire still irritated her.
“Ms. Miller.”
“Grace is fine.”
“Grace.”
He gestured to a chair.
She remained standing.
Adrian accepted that.
“I owe you an apology.”
She had not expected those words.
“For the test?”
“Yes.”
“You humiliated Victor.”
“He assaulted me.”
“You also put everyone else in a situation they didn’t consent to.”
Adrian leaned against the desk.
“You’re right.”
Grace blinked.
Powerful men, in her experience, often apologized by explaining why they had actually been correct.
Adrian did not.
“I wanted unfiltered truth,” he said. “I used deception to get it.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m trying something more difficult.”
“What?”
“Asking.”
He opened a file.
“Tell me about your complaint.”
Grace described Victor ordering Luis to clean his private truck.
When Luis refused, Victor threatened to report him for stealing fertilizer.
“Did Victor actually file the accusation?”
“No. He didn’t need to. Luis believed he would.”
Adrian looked toward Malcolm.
“And your complaint disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Grace hesitated.
Then she told them about Beatrice, the cook who had been denied a weekend off after refusing to prepare food for Victor’s private poker night.
She told them about temporary workers paying “uniform deposits” in cash.
She told them about drivers being ordered to transport packages after hours without logging mileage.
Malcolm stopped writing.
“Packages?”
Grace nodded.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“How often?”
“Maybe twice a month.”
Adrian frowned.
“From the house?”
“Usually the service wing.”
“Who authorized it?”
“Victor said Ms. Crane did.”
Malcolm and Adrian exchanged a look.
Grace noticed.
“What?”
Adrian answered carefully.
“We audited the security payroll. Eight fictitious employees were receiving deposits into three accounts.”
“Victor’s?”
“Not directly.”
Malcolm added, “The accounts belong to a staffing company called Haines Protective Consulting.”
Grace stared.
“Haines?”
“Owned by Victor’s older brother.”
Adrian closed the file.
“Victor says Lydia approved the vendor.”
Grace looked toward the study door as though Lydia might be listening.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“Then why isn’t she suspended?”
Adrian paused.
“Because I want to know what she does while she believes she still has control.”
Grace did not like that answer.
“So you’re testing someone again.”
“No disguise this time.”
“That doesn’t make it honest.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
Malcolm pretended to become extremely interested in his notes.
Grace continued.
“If Lydia did something illegal, investigate her. If you’re trying to trap her, you’re making everyone here part of your game.”
Adrian was silent for several seconds.
Then he pressed an intercom.
“Malcolm.”
Malcolm looked up.
“Hire outside forensic counsel and an independent employment investigator. Effective immediately.”
Grace realized Adrian had changed course because of what she said.
Malcolm nodded.
“Done.”
“And notify Lydia that all document retention rules are active.”
“That will alert her.”
“Yes.”
Malcolm smiled slightly.
“Good.”
After Malcolm left, Adrian walked to the window.
“My father ran this estate like a military camp.”
Grace said nothing.
“My mother tried to soften it. Staff scholarships. emergency grants. Christmas bonuses. My father called those things sentimental.”
“What did you call them?”
Adrian took longer to answer.
“I stopped thinking about them.”
Grace looked at the enormous room.
“That’s an answer.”
He turned.
“Why did you keep the screenshot?”
“Because people with less power learn to keep receipts.”
The words hit him harder than she intended.
Adrian nodded.
“That may be the most expensive lesson I learn this week.”
A knock interrupted them.
Malcolm returned carrying a thin folder.
His expression was different.
“Adrian, we found the employee relief fund.”
Grace saw recognition in Adrian’s face.
“My mother’s fund?”
“Yes.”
“How much remains?”
Malcolm did not answer immediately.
Adrian stepped forward.
“My mother left two million dollars.”
“Originally.”
“How much?”
“On paper? One point three million.”
“And actually?”
Malcolm placed bank statements on the desk.
“Less than nine hundred thousand.”
Grace stared.
Adrian’s voice hardened.
“Where did it go?”
“Security upgrades. Temporary staffing. perimeter reinforcement. Emergency maintenance.”
“Were those services performed?”
“Some.”
“And the rest?”
Malcolm opened another page.
“Paid to companies connected to Victor.”
Grace thought of his polished shoes.
His expensive watch.
His confidence that nothing could touch him.
Then Malcolm placed one final document on the desk.
“But Victor didn’t have authority to approve withdrawals.”
Adrian looked up.
“Who did?”
Malcolm turned the paper around.
At the bottom of every authorization sat the same name.
Lydia Crane.
Adrian stared at it.
Grace expected anger.
What she saw instead was something colder.
Betrayal.
Lydia had worked for the Whitmore family for eighteen years.
Adrian whispered, “My mother trusted her.”
Malcolm nodded.
“There’s another complication.”
“What?”
“The approvals above fifty thousand dollars required a second signature.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“Whose?”
Malcolm slid the final page forward.
Adrian stopped breathing.
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Grace looked down.
The second signature belonged to Adrian Whitmore.
