Chapter 5 - The Price of Silence
By Tuesday morning, Charlotte's name was circulating through Chicago's development community.
Not because of her designs.
Because someone had leaked a story.
The headline described her as a disgruntled former girlfriend attempting to extort a prominent developer.
Anonymous sources claimed she had fabricated allegations of intellectual-property theft after Preston refused to marry her.
One article called her unstable.
Another suggested she had manipulated Damon Moretti into offering her professional opportunities.
Charlotte read three paragraphs before closing her laptop.
Madison sat across from her.
“Don't read any more.”
“They're using photographs from my social media.”
“I know.”
“They're saying I stalked Preston.”
Madison's face hardened.
“Then we're going to prove otherwise.”
Charlotte looked exhausted.
“How?”
“By doing what we should have done the night you left him.”
Madison opened her phone.
The recording.
Preston's voice filled the kitchen.
She's comfortable. Loyal. Useful.
Charlotte flinched.
Madison stopped it.
“I haven't shared this with anyone.”
“Good.”
“But it proves he lied about your relationship.”
Charlotte shook her head.
“It proves he's cruel. It doesn't prove he stole my work.”
“No. But your drawings might.”
Charlotte stared at her.
Then something occurred to her.
“The backup drive.”
“What backup drive?”
“I used to save everything on an external drive before Preston convinced me to use his company cloud.”
“Where is it?”
Charlotte stood.
“In my old storage unit.”
An hour later, they were searching through cardboard boxes filled with canvases, books, winter clothes, and abandoned pieces of Charlotte's former life.
At the bottom of a plastic container, she found it.
A small silver hard drive.
Madison held her breath.
“Please tell me it works.”
Charlotte connected it to her laptop.
Folders appeared.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
Original design files.
Time-stamped sketches.
Correspondence.
Early versions of the North River plan.
Charlotte opened the Crawford restoration folder.
There it was.
The entire proposal.
Created months before Preston submitted his version.
Madison covered her mouth.
“Charlotte.”
But Charlotte was already opening another file.
An email she had saved in PDF format.
Preston had written:
These drawings are incredible. I don't know what I'd do without you.
She stared at the words.
Three years earlier, they would have made her feel loved.
Now they made her feel sick.
Madison touched her shoulder.
“We've got him.”
“Not yet.”
Charlotte opened the North River folder.
A separate file appeared.
NR_FINANCIAL_REVIEW_PRIVATE.
She frowned.
“I don't remember creating this.”
Inside was a spreadsheet.
Payments.
Transfers.
Consulting fees.
Several large amounts routed through companies connected to the Ashcroft family.
Charlotte scrolled.
Then stopped.
A payment of $480,000 had been made to a company called Hayes Restoration Services.
The date was seventeen years after her father's supposed death.
She stared.
“That can't be right.”
Madison leaned closer.
“What?”
“My father's business.”
The company had been dissolved years earlier.
At least, that was what Charlotte believed.
Yet someone had used its name to receive nearly half a million dollars.
She called Damon.
He answered immediately.
“Charlotte?”
“I found something.”
“Where are you?”
“With Madison.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
She explained the drive.
The financial records.
The payment.
Damon was silent for several seconds.
Then he said, “Don't send those files to anyone except your attorney through a secure channel. I'm coming to you.”
Thirty minutes later, Damon arrived with Adrian and a woman named Rebecca Sloan, an attorney specializing in commercial litigation.
Rebecca examined the documents.
Then she looked at Charlotte.
“These files could establish that your work predates Preston's submissions.”
“And the payment?” Charlotte asked.
“That requires further investigation.”
Damon studied the spreadsheet.
“Hayes Restoration Services was dissolved in 2003.”
Charlotte nodded.
“So how did it receive money?”
Rebecca answered carefully.
“Someone may have revived the entity, used a similar name, or falsified the payment description. We'll trace the registration and banking records through lawful channels.”
Charlotte leaned back.
Her head hurt.
Every answer seemed to produce three more questions.
Damon sat opposite her.
“You don't have to solve everything today.”
She looked at him.
“Everyone keeps telling me what I don't have to do.”
He accepted the criticism.
Then she whispered, “I just want to know what happened to my father.”
For the first time, Damon reached across the table.
He didn't touch her.
He simply placed his hand nearby.
“I understand.”
Charlotte studied him.
“Do you?”
His expression changed.
“My younger brother disappeared when I was thirty.”
She went still.
“I'm sorry.”
“We never found him.”
“Was it connected to your family's business?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he's alive?”
Damon looked away.
“Some days.”
Charlotte understood the answer more than she wanted to.
That evening, Rebecca secured the original drive and began preparing legal notices.
Damon arranged for Charlotte to stay somewhere safer than Madison's apartment, but Charlotte insisted that Madison accompany her.
He agreed without argument.
At 11:18 p.m., Preston called.
Charlotte almost ignored him.
Then she answered.
“What do you want?”
His voice sounded different.
Strained.
“Charlotte, you need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Digging.”
“You stole my work.”
“That's not what this is about anymore.”
“Then what is it about?”
Preston breathed heavily.
“Vivienne's father knows about the box.”
Charlotte froze.
“What box?”
“Don't play games.”
“How do you know about it?”
A pause.
Then Preston whispered, “Because he's the one who told me your father was dead.”
Charlotte gripped the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Listen carefully. There are things about North River you don't understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
His voice broke.
“Because the last person who tried to explain them disappeared.”
A noise sounded behind him.
A door opening.
Preston whispered something Charlotte couldn't hear.
Then a second voice spoke.
Older.
Cold.
“Give me the phone, Preston.”
The line went dead.
Charlotte immediately called back.
No answer.
At 11:26, she received a photograph from an unknown number.
Preston sat in a chair.
His face was bruised.
A handwritten note lay against his chest.
THE HAYES FAMILY HAS ALREADY BEEN PAID.
And beneath it was something that made Charlotte's knees buckle.
May you like
A photograph of her mother.
Taken that afternoon.
