Chapter 6 - The Story Victoria Told the World
By sunrise, my marriage had become public.
Someone leaked Victoria’s arrest.
The headline appeared on three gossip sites before breakfast.
REAL-ESTATE HEIRESS ARRESTED AFTER BIZARRE NANNY INCIDENT.
By nine, the wording had changed.
POSTPARTUM MOTHER CLAIMS NANNY ENDANGERED NEWBORNS.
By eleven, photographs of Emily had appeared online.
Her address.
Lucas’s illness.
Her financial history.
One article described her as “a struggling widow facing significant medical debt.”
I knew exactly what was happening.
Victoria had hired a crisis-management firm.
The story was being rewritten.
Again.
I called Leonard Price.
“Get Emily’s son out of the press.”
“I don't control the press.”
“You control your client.”
“My client denies releasing anything.”
“Of course she does.”
“Nathan, Victoria would like to speak with you.”
“No.”
“She is your wife.”
“She is under a temporary protective order concerning Emily.”
“That doesn't prevent marital communication.”
“I said no.”
Leonard paused.
“She also intends to seek temporary custody.”
The words hit me.
“On what grounds?”
“Your judgment.”
I laughed.
“My judgment?”
“You removed two newborns from their mother hours after a traumatic episode and placed them with your sister.”
“I protected them.”
“That will be litigated.”
I ended the call.
Claire found me standing in the kitchen.
“She’s going after custody?”
“Yes.”
“She'll use Emily.”
“Yes.”
“She'll say you're sleeping with her.”
I looked at my sister.
“That's insane.”
Claire gave me a sad smile.
“You still think this is about what’s true.”
I hated that she was right.
By afternoon, Victoria’s lawyers filed an emergency family-court petition.
It accused me of exploiting Victoria’s postpartum mental-health crisis, alienating her from the children, and forming an “inappropriate emotional attachment” to Emily.
There was no claim of an affair.
Not yet.
But the implication was obvious.
Our attorney advised me not to contact Victoria directly.
He also told me something important.
“Her arrest does not automatically decide custody.”
“I know.”
“The court will focus on the infants’ safety.”
“She tied their caregiver to furniture.”
“And we will document that carefully.”
I looked toward the nursery.
Police had released the room.
The bed remained.
I couldn't enter without seeing Emily tied there.
“What about the financial records?”
“Separate issue.”
“It isn't separate to me.”
“In court, it may be.”
That distinction mattered.
It frustrated me.
But it mattered.
We needed facts.
Not fury.
That evening our building’s security director called.
“There’s something you should see.”
The hallway outside the nursery was covered by an internal camera because Victoria had insisted on monitoring household staff.
I had forgotten it existed.
The system stored thirty days locally.
Except footage from the afternoon of Emily’s assault was missing.
“Deleted?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Administrator credentials.”
“Whose?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Mrs. Cole’s.”
My heart accelerated.
“Can it be recovered?”
“Possibly.”
I contacted our cybersecurity consultant.
He found automatic cloud snapshots.
Not full video.
Fragments.
At 1:12 p.m., Victoria walked toward the nursery carrying wine.
At 1:19, Emily appeared in the hallway holding her phone.
Victoria blocked her.
The clip ended.
At 1:23, another snapshot showed Victoria pulling Emily backward by the arm.
At 1:41, Victoria emerged alone carrying Emily’s phone.
At 2:07, Victoria returned with a leather folder.
At 2:16, she walked away carrying the folder and a red ledger.
I froze the image.
The ledger was thick.
Old.
I zoomed in.
Gold letters were stamped on the cover.
R.C. PROJECT 417.
April 17.
Riverside Crown.
I sent the image to Serena.
She called immediately.
“That looks like an original project cost ledger.”
“Why would Victoria keep it in our nursery?”
“She may not have.”
“What?”
“Your father maintained handwritten project books.”
I remembered.
Dad distrusted fully digital systems.
Major projects had physical ledgers tracking approvals, contingencies, inspections, consultants, and off-book negotiations.
“Where were they stored?”
“In the executive archive.”
“After he died?”
“Most were digitized.”
“Most?”
“There were missing volumes.”
I stared at Victoria carrying the ledger.
One of them had been inside my house.
Inside a safe I thought contained only family documents.
“What could be in that book?”
Serena was quiet.
“Potentially everything.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
One photograph.
Victoria.
Standing in a parking garage.
Talking to Martin.
Timestamp: two weeks earlier.
Then a second message appeared.
SHE KNOWS YOU’RE LOOKING NOW.
I typed back.
WHO IS THIS?
No response.
Instead, a final photograph appeared.
It showed the trunk of Victoria’s car.
Inside was the red ledger.
Beside it was a small metal box.
On top of the box lay a yellow envelope.
May you like
![92 The Girl They Called Broke Was a Billionaire’s Daughter—But Her Father’s Arrival Exposed a Secret Powerful People Had Buried for Years]](https://cdn.treeiq.biz/site_590/2026/11/clone-0-0915d882-53d7-4d17-b43a-a010ca1a1068.webp)
Across the front, written in my father’s handwriting, were the words:
FOR NATHAN — IF VICTORIA EVER ASKS FOR CONTROL.
