Chapter 2 - The Billionaire’s InsultThe silence in the apartment after Grant’s departure was heavy with unspoken history.
Adam looked at Audrey. The defiant posture she had held during Grant’s presence vanished, replaced by a quiet, exhausted tension. Her hands were slightly trembling as she smoothed down her green sweater.
“Are you alright?” Adam asked softly, setting his drill on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was barely above a whisper. “I just... I hate the way he talks down to people. He thinks because my father passed away, he owns everything Matthew Holloway ever built.”
Paige walked over and rested a hand on Audrey’s shoulder. “He’s trying to pressure Mom into selling her voting shares before the annual shareholder meeting next month.”
“Why?” Adam asked, leaning against the bedpost. “Your dad co-founded the company. Doesn’t your family hold a thirty percent block?”
“Grant’s father, Arthur Whitmore, has been quietly diluting our shares since my dad died five years ago,” Audrey explained. “Grant wants complete control. If he gets Mom’s remaining shares, he can turn the development firm into a commercial asset-stripping fund. They’ll destroy every community housing project my father designed.”
Adam frowned, turning his attention back to the iron bed frame. “Grant mentioned your mother’s trust fund.”
Audrey sighed, leaning against the bedroom wall. “My dad left a specific reserve account meant to support my mother’s medical care and the neighborhood foundation. But two years ago, the board claimed the original treasury documents were lost in a office fire. Without the original physical ledger or signed certificates, Grant’s lawyers froze the payouts.”
Adam didn't answer right away. He knelt back down beside the headboard, shining his work light into the hollow iron frame where he had noticed the tampered bolts earlier.
“That’s strange,” Adam muttered.
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“What is?” Paige asked, leaning over his shoulder.
“This bed frame,” Adam said, taking a small flashlight and looking directly up inside the hollow vertical post. “It’s custom wrought iron from the late nineteen-eighties. The weld marks near the base aren't factory work. Someone cut this open with a torch and re-welded it shut years ago.”
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