Chapter 8 - The Account Behind Silver Strand

Price's email removed the last reasonable doubt about the purpose of the delegation request.

Madeline was supposed to take control of purchasing while I was away. Vivienne was supposed to supervise the financing. Price was supposed to manage the sale proposal if Rowan House could be made to look desperate enough to accept it.

My father had told me marriage was the only way to save the company. In the papers he signed, my marriage was simply the opportunity to move me out of the office.

That was a difficult thing to know about a parent.

It was also something I couldn't afford to spend another week grieving in private.

My lawyer filed for an order preserving Rowan House's financial records and restricting new transactions made without independently verified authorization. We provided the copied signatures, access logs, the Price emails, and the original contracts showing duplicate vendor bills.

The court granted a temporary preservation order while the parties prepared for a hearing. It didn't decide who was guilty. It made destroying or altering the evidence considerably harder.

Silver Strand's bank was served through the proper legal process. Over the following weeks, statements and supporting records began to arrive. I stopped expecting one dramatic document to explain everything. The truth appeared in smaller pieces: the date on a transfer, an account number repeated on a deposit, a service description that matched no work ever performed.

Dana could finally trace what our own books had suggested.

Most of the one million four hundred thousand dollars had passed into accounts controlled through Silver Strand and affiliated entities. Some went toward legitimate expenses that Price had paid on its behalf. A substantial portion had been transferred into an investment account associated with Vivienne's family trust. Other amounts had gone to a consulting company Price controlled.

That was where the money had gone. Whether we could recover it was a separate question.

We also found that the supposed North Quay Capital demand letter had been drafted by Price's office before the restructuring agreement was signed. It had never represented a legally enforceable right to take our buildings. Its purpose, as a later email described with unpleasant directness, was to create "commercial urgency."

I read those two words three times.

Commercial urgency.

That was what they called frightening employees, alarming clients, and making me believe I had to marry a stranger.

Meanwhile, our bookings had begun to suffer. Two clients called asking whether Rowan House would still exist when their wedding dates arrived. I answered them myself, promised nothing I couldn't support, and offered to provide written assurances backed by our restructured financing.

Some accepted. One didn't.

That cancellation hurt more than I expected, because it was an ordinary consequence of extraordinary dishonesty. A woman who had planned a beautiful day had decided she could no longer trust us with it.

I called a staff meeting that afternoon.

I told our employees that the restructuring was active, that Rowan House retained its buildings and had twelve months to refinance, and that their employment had never been made conditional on my marriage. I told them we had uncovered serious questions about past payments and that an independent review was underway.

I did not name suspects or repeat rumors. I promised to communicate verified information as it became available.

Joan stood in the back of the room, arms folded. Malik was beside her. Neither looked surprised by the news. They had helped uncover it.

When I finished, an employee asked whether we could still afford to pay everybody that month.

"Yes," I said. "The payroll is funded. Dana and Joan have verified it. If that changes, you'll hear it directly from me."

I saw shoulders lower around the room.

It was the first useful answer I'd given in days that had nothing to do with my husband.

That evening Adrian came to my office carrying dinner in a paper bag. He stopped at the door and asked whether he could come in.

"Only if you've brought enough for someone who hasn't eaten since breakfast."

He set the food down and waited while I cleared space beside a stack of booking schedules.

"Your staff seems to trust you," he said.

"They've seen me make mistakes."

"They've seen you repair them."

I looked at him. He was not trying to turn the room into a romantic scene. He had brought dinner, and he was asking the kind of questions I'd wished my family asked.

"Have you ever been afraid of what people will find if they look closely enough at you?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And you still agreed to an independent review of the Vale accounts."

"You asked for it. You had reason to."

He didn't pretend his world was harmless. I appreciated that more than another promise that I would never be hurt.

"You know we may lose money even if we win this," I said.

"I know."

"And I may need to separate the company from your holdings completely."

"Then we negotiate the separation on terms your advisers can defend."

I ate quietly for a moment. Across the desk, Adrian unfolded his napkin with the same care he'd used when placing his water glass down at our wedding.

"I used to think affection meant being useful to somebody," I said.

He didn't answer immediately.

"Being useful isn't the same as being chosen."

I wanted to believe that. I wasn't ready to say I did.

Two days later, Dana's team located the remaining critical piece. Price had sent Vivienne a schedule of expected proceeds from the planned building purchase. The price was far below the properties' independent valuation. The shortfall would have benefited the buyer, while the supposed emergency would justify the sale.

With it came a draft letter to prospective clients questioning Rowan House's solvency.

A version of that letter had already reached two clients.

It wasn't enough to repair the harm by knowing who had caused it. We needed an order stopping the campaign and protecting what money remained.

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Our lawyers requested an expedited hearing.

For the first time, the people who had arranged this behind my back would have to answer questions in a room where beautiful lies could be tested against original records.