Chapter 2 - The Stolen Blueprint
The paper trembled in my hands under the soft glow of the driveway lantern.
My father, William Hayes, had passed away fourteen months ago from sudden cardiac arrest, leaving me eighty percent of the voting shares of Hayes Holdings and a vault of private journals I had barely begun to read.
Gregory Ashford’s entire fortune—the very capital he had spent all evening bragging about—was built on Ashford Grid Innovations.
Everyone in the energy sector believed Gregory was a generational wunderkind who had revolutionized regional power distribution at twenty-eight.
Now, staring at the wax seal and my father’s unmistakable handwriting, the truth hit me with the force of a tidal wave.
Gregory Ashford wasn't an inventor; he was a corporate pirate who had gutted a rival and used my father’s silence to cover the crime.
"Scarlet!" a voice called sharply from the top of the terrace steps.
I shoved the document into the leather binder, tucking it behind my back as Gregory Ashford descended the limestone steps, holding two fresh flutes of vintage Dom Pérignon.
His tuxedo was immaculate, his silver cufflinks catching the light, his polished smile dripping with unearned certainty.
"What are you doing down here by the delivery lane in the damp grass?" Gregory asked, looking at my ruined silk slippers with mild distaste.
"You're going to catch a chill, darling. Come back inside. The governor wants to toast our upcoming joint venture."
I looked at Gregory, feeling a deep, suffocating nausea rise into my throat.
For two years, my board had been pressuring me to merge Hayes Holdings with Ashford Capital to monopolize the tri-state energy corridor.
"Did you know Thomas Bennett, Gregory?" I asked, my voice as calm as still water.
Gregory’s hand jerked slightly, spilling two drops of champagne over his cuff.
The polished smile froze on his face for a fraction of a second before he recovered with a smooth, patronizing chuckle.
"Thomas Bennett? The old drunk who went bankrupt trying to build municipal wind farms in the Blue Ridge? He died years ago, Scarlet. Why on earth are you asking about obsolete competitors?"
"No reason," I said, keeping my posture rigid.
"Just thinking about old debts."
"Debts are for losers, Scarlet," Gregory said, stepping closer, reaching out to touch my bare shoulder.
"Winners write the history. Now, hand your glass to the butler and let's announce our merger to the room."
I stepped backward smoothly, slipping past his reach and keeping the heavy leather binder concealed beneath the folds of my dark satin dress.
"I have a headache, Gregory," I said, walking past him up the stairs without looking back.
"Tell the governor the toast is canceled. The party is over."
Gregory’s smile vanished completely, his jaw tightening into an ugly, furious line as he watched me disappear through the French doors into the mansion.
I didn't stop in the ballroom.
I bypassed the senators, the bankers, and the socialites, walking straight up to my private third-floor study, locking the reinforced oak door behind me.
I opened my laptop, plugged in my private secure token, and dialed my personal investigator, Paul Vance.
May you like
"Paul," I said the second he answered the midnight line.
"I need an immediate background scrub on an electrician named Noah Bennett. Find out where he lives, what he owns, and why his father's name is on a stolen Ashford patent."
