The Signature

Chapter 4

The briefcase smelled like old leather and dust.

Arielle sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the contents spread out around her like pieces of a puzzle she’d been trying to solve for ten years.

Documents. Bank statements. Emails printed on paper that had yellowed with time. And a small digital recorder that looked ancient but still worked when she pressed play.

Her father’s voice filled the room.

“This is Thomas Beaumont. Today is March 15th. If you’re hearing this, something’s happened to me.”

Arielle’s throat closed up. She pressed pause. Took a breath. Then pressed play again.

“I need to document what’s been happening. What Richard and Henry Moreau have been doing. They’ve been siphoning money from the company for months. Falsifying records. Creating shell accounts. And when I confronted them about it, they turned it around on me.”

There was a long pause. Papers rustling.

“They’re going to frame me for their crimes. I know that now. They’ve already planted evidence in my office. Forged my signature on documents I’ve never seen. Richard told me today that if I don’t resign quietly and disappear, they’ll destroy everything. My reputation. My family. Everything I’ve built.”

Another pause. Her father’s voice sounded tired. Defeated.

“I won’t let them do this. I’m going to the police tomorrow. I have copies of everything. The real financial records. Proof of what they’ve done. If something happens to me before I can get there, Richard Cole knows where to find this. He’s the only person I trust anymore.”

The recording clicked off.

Arielle sat in silence. Her hands were numb. Her face was wet. She hadn’t realized she was crying.

He’d tried to fight back. He’d tried to expose them.

And they’d killed him for it.

She picked up one of the documents. A bank statement from a company called Meridian Solutions. Millions of dollars flowing in and out. And at the bottom, signatures. Richard Moreau. Henry Moreau.

Not her father’s name anywhere.

Another document. An email chain between Richard and Henry. Discussing the “Beaumont problem.” How to “neutralize the threat.” How to make it look like Thomas had been the one stealing all along.

There were dozens of these. Hundreds of pages. All of it pointing to the same conclusion.

Her father had been innocent. And Lucien’s father and uncle had murdered him to cover their tracks.

Arielle’s phone buzzed. She ignored it. Kept reading.

An hour passed. Then two. The sun set outside her window. The apartment grew dark. She didn’t turn on the lights.

By the time she finished going through everything, it was past midnight.

And she understood exactly what she was walking into.

Lucien Moreau was the son of a murderer. The nephew of a criminal. He’d inherited a company built on blood and lies.

Did he know? Had his father told him the truth before he died? Or was Lucien as much a victim of his family’s secrets as she was?

It didn’t matter. Not really. Because tomorrow morning, she was going to walk into his office and agree to marry him. And then she was going to use that position to find out everything.

Every secret. Every lie. Every crime.

And when she had enough evidence, she was going to burn the Moreau family to the ground.

Her phone buzzed again. This time she looked.

A text from an unknown number. Congratulations on your engagement. I look forward to meeting my new daughter-in-law.

Arielle stared at the message. No name. But she knew who it was from.

Mary Moreau. Lucien’s mother.

The woman who’d helped destroy her father.

She didn’t respond. Just turned off her phone and shoved everything back into the briefcase. She hid it in the back of her closet, behind boxes of winter clothes she never wore.

Then she took a shower. Hot enough to turn her skin pink. Trying to wash away the feeling of dread that had settled in her bones.

This was insane. 

She was agreeing to marry into the family that had murdered her father. To smile and play pretend while living with people who’d destroyed everything.

But what choice did she have? The police wouldn’t help. The evidence was old. The Moreaus were too powerful. Too connected.

No. This was the only way.

Get close. Gain their trust. Find more proof. Then strike.

Arielle got out of the shower and stared at herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked back. Same dark eyes. Same face her mother always said looked just like her father’s.

She wondered what he would think of this plan. If he’d be proud or horrified.

Probably both.

She got dressed. Black pants. White blouse. Professional. Calm. The kind of outfit that didn’t draw attention.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tomorrow, she’d become Arielle Laurent, fiancée to Lucien Moreau.

And eventually, she’d become the woman who brought his family down.

She set three alarms on her phone. Then got into bed. Lay there staring at the ceiling. Knowing she wouldn’t sleep.

At some point, exhaustion won. She drifted off into dreams that felt more like memories. Her father’s laugh. The way he used to spin her around when she was little. The last time she’d seen him alive.

Her alarm went off at six AM.

Arielle got up. Made coffee. Ate toast she could barely taste. Put on makeup carefully. Tied her hair back in a neat bun.

By seven thirty, she was ready.

By eight fifteen, she was standing outside Moreau Holdings.

The building looked different today. Taller somehow. More imposing. Like it knew what she was planning and was daring her to go through with it.

She walked through the lobby. Took the elevator to the thirty-second floor.

Lucien’s assistant looked up when she arrived. “Miss Laurent. Mr. Moreau is expecting you. Go right in.”

Arielle nodded. Her hands were steady. Her face was calm. Inside, her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.

She knocked once. Then opened the door.

Lucien was standing by the window again. Same position as yesterday. Like he’d been waiting all night.

He turned when she entered. His expression was unreadable.

“Miss Laurent. Right on time.”

“I said I would be.”

“You also said you needed time to think.” He moved toward his desk. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

“I’m here.”

“So you are.” He picked up a folder. Different from yesterday’s. Thinner. “Before we proceed, I need to ask. Did you have the contract reviewed by legal counsel?”

Arielle thought of Caroline Winters. The offer of free legal review. “I read it myself. Thoroughly. I understand the terms.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.”

Something flickered across his face. Almost like respect. But it was gone too quickly to be sure.

“Very well.” He opened the folder and pulled out a pen. Expensive-looking. Probably cost more than her monthly salary. “There are a few additional terms we need to discuss before signing.”

“Such as?”

“Living arrangements. You’ll move into my residence immediately after the announcement. We’ll need to maintain the appearance of a real relationship. That means shared space. Public displays of affection when necessary. Coordinated schedules.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Lucien set down the pen. “This isn’t just paperwork, Miss Laurent. Once we announce this engagement, your life will belong to the public. To my family. To the company. There’s no privacy. No anonymity. Are you prepared for that?”

Arielle met his eyes. Steady. Unflinching. “I’m prepared.”

“Good.” He picked up the pen again. Held it out to her. “Then sign.”

She took it. The weight felt heavy in her hand. This was it. The point of no return.

She thought of her father. The recording. His voice saying he wouldn’t let them destroy his family.

She signed her name. Clear. Deliberate. Arielle Laurent.

Not Arielle Beaumont. Not yet. That name would come later. When she was ready to reveal who she really was.

Lucien took the document and signed below her name. Then he set down the pen and looked at her.

“Congratulations,” he said. His voice was flat. Empty. “You’re now engaged to be married.”

“When’s the announcement?”

“This afternoon. Two PM. Press conference in the main lobby. You’ll stand beside me. Look happy. Answer no questions. Can you do that?”

“I can do whatever you need me to do.”

“We’ll see.” He moved to a panel on the wall and pressed a button. “Caroline, send them in.”

The door opened. Three people entered. Two women and a man. All carrying tablets and looking efficient.

“This is your team,” Lucien said. “Stylist. Media consultant. Personal assistant. They’ll help you prepare for the announcement. Answer their questions. Follow their instructions. And for the love of god, try to look like you actually want to marry me.”

One of the women stepped forward. Blonde. Sharp suit. Bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hi! I’m Jessica. We’re going to make you look absolutely perfect for your big announcement.” She looked Arielle up and down. “Great bone structure. We can definitely work with this. Come with me, honey. We have so much to do.”

Arielle glanced back at Lucien. He’d already turned away. Back to his desk. Back to work. Like she’d already stopped existing.

She followed Jessica out of the office.

The next four hours were a blur. Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe changes. Questions about her favorite color, her style, her relationship with Lucien that she had to make up on the spot.

“How did you two meet?” Jessica asked while pinning Arielle into a dress that cost more than three months of her salary.

“At work.”

“And when did you know he was the one?”

Arielle thought of her father’s briefcase. The evidence. The plan.

“The moment I saw him,” she lied smoothly. “I just knew.”

Jessica beamed. “That’s perfect. So romantic. The press is going to eat this up.”

At one forty-five, Arielle stood in front of a full-length mirror and barely recognized herself.

The dress was ivory. Simple but elegant. Her hair was down in soft waves. Her makeup was flawless. She looked like someone who belonged in Lucien Moreau’s world.

She looked like a liar.

“You’re beautiful,” Jessica said. “Lucien is a lucky man.”

Arielle smiled. Practiced. Perfect. “Thank you.”

At two o’clock, she walked into the lobby on heels that were too high and a smile that hurt her face.

Lucien was already there. Surrounded by cameras and reporters and flashing lights.

He turned when she approached. His expression changed. Just slightly. Something that might have been surprise.

He held out his hand.

Arielle took it.

His palm was warm. Steady. She hated how safe it felt.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lucien said to the crowd. His voice carried easily. Confident. “I’d like to introduce you to my fiancée. Arielle Laurent.”

The cameras erupted. Questions flew from every direction. Arielle’s smile stayed frozen in place.

Lucien’s hand tightened around hers. Almost protective.

And for just a second, she almost forgot this was all pretend.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​