Chapter 3: The Price of Saying No
The first thing my father did was take me away from the wedding.
The second was call three attorneys.
By the time we reached his black sedan, two of them had answered. The third was already on his way to our offices.
I sat in the back seat with my wedding dress gathered around me, watching the grand estate disappear behind tinted glass.
White roses. Champagne towers. Three hundred guests.
A six-figure celebration designed to unite two families.
I wondered how many people would remember it as the day Sebastian Ashworth lost his bride.
Then I wondered how many would remember it as the day he lost his access to Winslow Logistics.
Dad sat beside me, speaking quietly into his phone.
“Freeze all pending transfers. Nobody signs anything without direct authorization from me or counsel. And tell the bank that the request is disputed.””
He listened.
“No, don't speculate. Preserve every record.””
Another pause.
“Especially the electronic submissions.””
He ended the call.
I looked at him.
“Can they really freeze our accounts?””
“Not simply because they ask. But if someone has submitted documents suggesting a dispute over ownership or authorization, a bank may temporarily restrict certain transactions while it verifies them.””
“Could that hurt the company?””
“Of course.””
He didn't soften the answer.
“Payroll, supplier payments, operating credit. A few hours of disruption can cause problems. That's why we're treating this seriously.””
I looked down at my hands.
The engagement ring still glittered on my finger.
I pulled it off.
Dad watched me place it in the small velvet box beside me.
“You don't have to make every decision today,” he said.
“I've already made one.””
“Which is?””
“I won't marry him.””
A small, tired smile crossed Dad's face.
“Good.””
I almost laughed.
It was the first uncomplicated response I'd heard all morning.
Then my phone began vibrating.
Messages poured in.
Friends asking where I was.
My cousin demanding to know why the ceremony had been delayed.
An unknown number sent a photograph of Lavinia standing beside Sebastian in the corridor, his hand resting on her waist.
The caption read:
Guess the bride wasn't the only woman who got dressed for the wedding.
I stared at the screen.
Someone had already started spreading the story.
Dad noticed.
“Give me your phone.””
“Why?””
“Because whoever sent that photograph wants a reaction.””
I hesitated, then handed it over.
He turned it off.
“You can respond when you have something worth saying.””
We arrived at Winslow Logistics twenty minutes later.
The company's headquarters occupied a modern glass building overlooking the river. Trucks bearing our blue-and-silver logo moved through the loading yards below, their engines rumbling like a heartbeat.
This was my father's life's work.
And, increasingly, mine.
I had studied supply-chain management at Northwestern, spent two years working in warehouse operations, and then joined the company's strategic planning team. I knew how many deliveries we made each day, which contracts carried the smallest margins, and how much a delayed shipment could cost a retailer during the holiday season.
I also knew that the Ashworth subsidiary had approached us after losing two major distribution contracts.
They had called it an opportunity for expansion.
I now wondered whether they had called it something else in private.
Dad led me into the executive conference room.
Three people were already waiting: our chief financial officer, Martin Cole; our general counsel, Rebecca Shaw; and the head of corporate security, Daniel Mercer.
Martin stood when we entered.
“Harlan, we've confirmed the account alert.””
“What exactly did the bank receive?”” Dad asked.
Martin opened his laptop.
“A request alleging that Ashworth Holdings has an enforceable financial interest in several Winslow accounts under the proposed partnership.””
Rebecca frowned.
“But the agreement hasn't been executed.””
“Correct.””
“Then who submitted the supporting documents?””
Martin turned the laptop toward her.
“We're still verifying that.””
Rebecca examined the screen.
“This signature isn't Harlan's.””
“No,” Dad said.
“It isn't.””
I leaned over the table.
“Can we see the full submission?””
Martin hesitated.
“It contains confidential information.””
“I'm the director of strategic planning. I've been involved in this merger since the beginning.””
Dad nodded.
“Show her.””
Martin enlarged the document.
My name appeared on the second page.
A signature sat beneath a statement declaring that I had agreed to provide a personal guarantee for the merger's initial financing.
I felt the room grow cold.
“That isn't my signature.””
Rebecca looked at me.
“Did you ever sign any preliminary authorization?””
“No.””
“Any digital consent?””
“No.””
“Did Sebastian ever send you a document through a signing platform?””
I thought carefully.
“He sent me a link two months ago. He said it was a routine confidentiality acknowledgment. I opened it, but the page wouldn't load properly.””
“Did you sign it?””
“No.””
Rebecca nodded.
“Good. We'll preserve the email and verify exactly what it contained.””
Martin scrolled down.
“The request also references a separate document identifying Genevieve as the beneficial owner of a portion of the proposed joint venture.””
“What does that mean?”” I asked.
“It suggests you agreed to transfer certain interests or assets into the partnership,” Rebecca explained.
“We need the complete record before we can determine what was submitted and whether anything was accepted.””
Dad leaned back.
“Then we determine it.””
Daniel Mercer, our security chief, cleared his throat.
“There's another issue.””
Everyone turned toward him.
“At 8:17 this morning, someone used a temporary visitor credential to enter the executive offices.””
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“Who?””
“The credential was issued to a representative of Ashworth Holdings yesterday. The visitor was expected to attend a pre-wedding business meeting.””
“I canceled that meeting,” Dad said.
“Yes, sir. But the credential remained active.””
Daniel placed a printed access report on the table.
“The visitor entered the finance corridor and left eleven minutes later.””
Martin frowned.
“Was anything removed?””
“We're reviewing the camera footage.””
I stared at the report.
“What time did Sebastian arrive at the estate?””
“Just before eight,” Dad said.
My mind began connecting details.
The stolen bracelet.
The contract folder.
The false signature.
The emergency account request.
Sebastian hadn't simply come to cancel our wedding.
He had arrived with a plan.
And the plan had begun before I knew anything was wrong.
Rebecca closed the folder.
“We need to contact the bank immediately, notify our insurers where appropriate, and issue a legal hold covering all relevant records.””
Dad nodded.
“Do it.””
Then he turned to me.
“Genevieve, I need you to tell us everything Sebastian ever said about the merger. Every unusual request. Every document. Every conversation that seemed harmless at the time.””
I spent the next hour answering questions.
I told them about Philippa's dinners, Sebastian's insistence that the wedding and merger should be completed on the same day, and the repeated requests for my father's signature.
I described how Sebastian had once asked whether I would be willing to serve as a director of the joint venture.
At the time, I'd thought it was a sign that he respected my business experience.
Now I remembered his exact words.
It would make everything easier if you were officially involved.
Easier for whom?
When the meeting ended, Rebecca asked me to forward every email and message connected to the Ashworths.
I opened my phone again.
Among the wedding photographs and congratulations was a message from Sebastian sent the previous night.
Tomorrow changes everything for us. Trust me.
I read it twice.
Then I forwarded it to Rebecca.
A moment later, another message appeared.
This one came from Lavinia.
You need to hear the truth about Sebastian before you let your father destroy him.
I stared at the words.
Dad read the message over my shoulder.
“Don't answer it yet.””
“Why would she contact me?””
“Because she's frightened. Or because she wants something.””
“What if she knows something important?””
“Then she'll have to tell us.””
I typed a reply before he could stop me.
What truth?
The response arrived almost immediately.
Meet me alone. Tonight. The old conservatory behind the Ashworth estate. Eight o'clock.
I showed Dad.
He shook his head.
“Absolutely not.””
“She might know who forged the documents.””
“Or she might be trying to put you in a room with two people who have already demonstrated that they don't care about your safety.””
“I won't go alone.””
“Genevieve—”
“Dad, if she knows something that could protect our company, I need to hear it.””
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
“We'll arrange a safe meeting with counsel present. If she refuses, that's her decision.””
I sent the message.
I'll meet you somewhere public, with my attorney present.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, Lavinia replied.
I can't. Sebastian has people watching me.
My skin prickled.
Another message followed.
He doesn't know I took the original.
I stared at the screen.
The original what?
This time, her answer took nearly a minute.
The document that proves he never intended to marry either of us.
Before I could respond, she sent a photograph.
It showed a sheet of paper lying on a dark wooden table.
At the top was the name of a company I'd never heard of.
Beneath it was a list of shareholders.
May you like
And beside the largest ownership percentage was a name that made my breath catch.
*Genevieve Eleanor Winslow.*
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