Chapter 6 - My Sister's Betrayal
I called Chloe seventeen times.
She didn't answer.
By call eighteen, I was no longer frightened.
I was furious.
Graham stood across the room watching me.
“Let Marcus handle it.”
“She's my sister.”
“That doesn't make her safe.”
“It doesn't make her guilty either.”
He didn't argue.
That somehow made it worse.
Finally, Chloe called.
“Avery?”
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“At home.”
“Don't lie to me.”
Another pause.
“What's happening?”
I looked at the transfer record.
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars happened.”
Silence.
My heart broke a little.
“Chloe.”
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Were you working for Preston?”
“No.”
“Did he pay you?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Graham moved closer.
“Why?”
Chloe started crying.
“I was trying to help you.”
Every betrayal in history probably began with that sentence.
Two hours later, Chloe arrived at Graham's penthouse with her husband, Ben.
She looked exhausted.
I didn't hug her.
She noticed.
“Avery—”
“Talk.”
Chloe sat.
“Three months ago, Preston contacted me.”
“How did he get your number?”
“He said somebody at Reed Global gave it to him.”
“What did he want?”
“Information about you.”
My stomach turned.
“What information?”
“Whether you were dating anyone. Whether you had debt. Whether Dad's business was struggling. Whether you hated Graham.”
Graham lifted an eyebrow.
“And?”
“I told him Avery complained about you constantly.”
Despite everything, I looked at Graham.
“Accurate.”
“Good to know.”
Chloe continued.
“Preston offered me fifty thousand dollars for copies of some family documents.”
“What documents?”
“Dad's tax returns. Your birth certificate. Old addresses.”
I felt sick.
“You gave them to him?”
“No!”
“Then why did he pay you?”
“Because Ben and I went to the FBI.”
Nobody moved.
Ben pulled a badge from his pocket.
He wasn't a local police officer anymore.
He was working temporarily with a federal financial crimes task force.
Chloe had agreed to act as a confidential source.
The payments had been monitored.
“So the money—”
“Is evidence,” Ben said.
I stared at my sister.
“You couldn't tell me?”
“If Preston thought you knew, he'd stop talking.”
Chloe's eyes filled.
“I watched the news from Vegas and almost called you anyway. Then our handler said Preston had become desperate.”
I finally hugged her.
Hard.
“Never do this again.”
“I won't.”
“You will probably absolutely do this again.”
“Yes.”
Ben opened a file.
“Preston believed Avery had access to a missing set of financial records.”
“The ones on my laptop,” I said.
“Exactly.”
Graham leaned forward.
“Why Avery?”
Ben looked at him.
“Because somebody inside your company told Preston she had copied them.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
Miles Voss was the obvious answer.
But something didn't fit.
Miles had access to finance files.
He didn't need me to accidentally find them.
I thought back to the Southwest acquisition.
Eight months of negotiations.
Hundreds of documents.
One evening three weeks earlier, a file appeared inside the shared transaction folder.
It was mislabeled as environmental compliance.
I opened it.
Inside were years of old vendor numbers.
I had assumed it was archived data and copied the entire folder to my laptop before a flight because I planned to clean up the database.
“What if the file was put there intentionally?”
Everyone looked at me.
Graham frowned.
“For you?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
I thought.
Only six people had administrator access.
Graham.
Miles.
The general counsel.
Two IT directors.
And me.
Except—
“There was one more.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Graham stared.
“That account was closed seventeen years ago.”
“No. It wasn't.”
I pulled out my phone.
“When I opened that folder, the metadata showed TR-001 as the original uploader.”
Graham's face changed.
“Thomas Reed.”
Someone had preserved his account.
Maybe Thomas himself had created a delayed archive.
Maybe someone loyal to him had waited years before placing the evidence where Graham would eventually find it.
Or where I would.
Ben requested the metadata.
Marcus retrieved it.
The upload timestamp was three weeks ago.
Thomas Reed had been dead for fourteen years.
Someone was using his credentials.
That night, Graham and I stayed awake reviewing old employee records.
At 3:00 a.m., we found a name.
Samuel Reed.
Graham's father's younger brother.
Not Preston.
Samuel.
I vaguely remembered hearing about him.
“He left the company?”
“Twenty years ago,” Graham said.
“Why?”
“He and my grandfather fought constantly. Samuel thought the company was becoming corrupt. Grandfather called him weak.”
“Where is he now?”
“No idea.”
Marcus searched.
Samuel Reed lived in Vermont.
He was seventy-two.
Retired.
And apparently had not spoken to Graham's family in seventeen years.
Graham called.
No answer.
He called again.
A sleepy voice finally responded.
“Hello?”
“Uncle Samuel?”
Silence.
Then:
“Graham.”
Graham sat straighter.
“I need to ask about my father's account.”
Another long silence.
Samuel sighed.
“So Avery found the files.”
Every person in the room froze.
Graham's voice became cold.
“How do you know Avery?”
“I've been waiting for someone like her.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means your father was smarter than Preston.”
“Explain.”
“Not over the phone.”
Graham stood.
“Where are you?”
“Not Vermont.”
“Then where?”
“Chicago.”
Twenty minutes later, the penthouse buzzer rang.
Marcus went downstairs.
When the elevator opened, an elderly man entered carrying a battered leather briefcase.
Graham looked like he had seen a ghost.
Samuel Reed removed his coat.
“I owed your father seventeen years,” he said.
Then he looked directly at me.
“And you're the woman who finally opened the door he left behind.”
He placed the briefcase on the table.
Inside was a handwritten ledger.
Original contracts.
Bank records.
And one sealed envelope.
Samuel pushed it toward Graham.
“Your father told me to give you this only if Preston ever tried to take the company again.”
Graham opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He read it.
Then sat down.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
Thomas Reed had owned another seven percent of Reed Global through a private holding company.
Shares nobody knew still existed.
He had transferred control to Samuel.
And according to the final paragraph, Samuel was authorized to give them to one person.
Not Graham.
Not Eleanor.
Not another Reed.
The shares were to go to:
the individual who uncovered the evidence and chose the truth over personal gain.
Samuel looked at me.
“Avery Collins Reed.”
I stopped breathing.
“You now control seven percent of Reed Global.”
Graham stared at me.
May you like
I stared back.
And somewhere in Chicago, Preston Reed was about to discover that the woman he had tried to frighten out of the family had just become one of the most powerful shareholders in it.
