Chapter seven: The lie beneath the lie

Penelope's POV

I had faced powerful men who believed they could buy my silence.

I had sat across from executives who thought my success was an accident.

I had watched Tyler Black look at me as though I were nothing.

None of those experiences prepared me for the fear that settled inside me when I saw that photograph of Barry.

Someone had been watching my son.

Someone knew where he went to school, what he looked like, and precisely how to get my attention.

I gripped my phone so tightly that my fingers began to ache.

"Who took this?" I demanded.

Andrew stood opposite me, his expression grim.

"We're going to find out."

"That isn't what I asked."

"I don't know who took it."

"But you know something."

He exhaled slowly.

"Penelope..."

"No." My voice cracked, and I hated it. "Don't say my name like that. Don't look at me as though I'm a frightened child who needs to be calmed down. Someone has been following my son, and I want answers."

Andrew fell silent.

I had seen him angry before. I had seen him ruthless, calculating, and frighteningly composed.

But I had never seen him look so troubled.

"First," he said, "we're going to make sure Barry is safe."

He called his security team and instructed them to arrange additional protection without frightening Barry. Then he contacted the school and confirmed that our approved collection arrangements would remain in place.

Only after those calls did he return his attention to me.

"The photograph was taken from a public area outside the school. We don't know whether the person who took it was acting alone."

I swallowed.

"And the grandfather?"

Andrew rubbed a hand over his jaw.

"Your son is Tyler's child. That makes Marcus Black his paternal grandfather. Whoever sent that message knows that."

"Then why phrase it as though there's some other answer?"

"Because they want you frightened and suspicious."

"Congratulations to them. It's working."

The words came out more sharply than I intended.

Andrew didn't argue.

Instead, he moved closer.

"I know you're afraid."

"Don't."

"Penelope"

"I said don't!"

My voice echoed through the office.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

I pressed my palms against the desk and tried to steady my breathing.

"I trusted you," I whispered.

Pain flickered across his face.

"You still can."

"Then give me something real to trust."

He looked toward the window.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

"Years ago, before Tyler destroyed my company, I investigated Marcus Black. I suspected he was using legitimate businesses to hide money from people who would have exposed his criminal dealings."

"And?"

"I found inconsistencies in several transactions. Then Tyler framed me for fraud, and my investigation collapsed. The evidence disappeared, my accounts were frozen, and everyone who might have helped me suddenly became unavailable."

I listened without interrupting.

"After I rebuilt my finances, I resumed the investigation. I discovered that Marcus had used several shell companies to move money. Some of those companies remained active long after his death."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't have proof that any of it connected to you or your family."

"My family?"

Andrew's silence answered me before he did.

"Your biological parents," he said.

The words struck me with unexpected force.

I had spent so much of my life trying to understand why I had been abandoned, why my foster family had treated me as disposable, and why I had never seemed to belong anywhere.

I had never imagined that my parents' deaths might be connected to Tyler's family.

"What do you know about them?"

"Very little. Their names appeared in some old shipping records connected to Marcus's companies. I haven't established the full connection."

"Then we'll establish it."

"Together?"

I looked at him.

"Did you think I was going to let you investigate my parents without me?"

A faint smile touched his face.

"No. I was hoping you'd say that."

For one brief moment, the tension between us eased.

Then my phone rang.

The school.

I answered immediately.

"Hello?"

A woman's voice spoke on the other end.

"Mrs. Sting, we're calling to confirm that Barry's pickup arrangements have been changed."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"Someone contacted the administration earlier today, claiming to represent your family. They requested that Barry be released to an alternative guardian."

I stood so quickly that my chair scraped across the floor.

"Who contacted you?"

"They provided documentation, ma'am. We haven't released him, but we need you to confirm—"

"Do not release my son to anyone unless Andrew or I personally authorize it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I ended the call.

Andrew was already reaching for his keys.

"We're going there."

I grabbed my bag.

"Whoever did this knows about Barry, knows about our investigation, and apparently has enough information to impersonate someone connected to us."

Andrew's face hardened.

"Then we find out who."

---

By the time we arrived, Barry was sitting safely in the headmistress's office with a member of the school's security team nearby.

The moment he saw me, he ran into my arms.

"Mummy!"

I knelt and held him tightly.

"Baby, are you okay?"

He nodded against my shoulder.

"Why did you come early?"

I closed my eyes for a moment.

"Because I missed you."

He pulled back and studied my face with the perceptiveness that sometimes reminded me of Andrew.

"Are you sad?"

"No, sweetheart."

"Then why are you holding me so tight?"

My heart broke a little.

I kissed his forehead.

"Because you're my favourite person in the whole world."

He smiled.

"Even more than Uncle Andrew?"

I glanced at Andrew, who stood nearby with his hands in his pockets.

"Don't push your luck, young man."

Barry giggled.

For a moment, everything felt normal again.

Then the headmistress approached us carrying a folder.

"Mrs. Sting, there's something you should see."

She placed a printed copy of the request on the desk.

I read the name of the person who had submitted it.

My foster sister.

Miranda.

I stared at the page.

"How did she get this information?"

The headmistress shook her head.

"We don't know. The documents appeared legitimate at first glance, but our staff followed the security protocol and contacted you before making any changes."

Andrew examined the paperwork.

"This signature is forged."

I looked at him.

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

He pointed to the authorization stamp.

"Whoever prepared this knew the kind of documentation the school expected. But they made a mistake here."

"What mistake?"

"The issuing office hasn't used this format in years."

I looked back at the form.

Miranda had never cared about me unless there was something to gain.

If she had become involved in this, someone had offered her something.

Money, perhaps.

Or information.

Or the chance to hurt me.

I thanked the headmistress, collected Barry, and left with Andrew.

On the drive home, Barry fell asleep in the back seat.

I watched his reflection in the window.

"Someone paid Miranda," I said quietly.

Andrew kept his eyes on the road.

"Possibly."

"She wouldn't know anything about my biological parents unless someone told her."

"Which means we need to find out who contacted her."

I turned toward him.

"And we need to find the original files."

He nodded.

"Agreed."

When we arrived home, Andrew asked his security team to remain nearby while I took Barry upstairs.

I tucked him into bed, brushed his hair from his forehead, and stayed beside him until his breathing settled into the peaceful rhythm of sleep.

Then I went downstairs.

Andrew was waiting in the living room with a laptop open on the coffee table.

"I found something," he said.

I sat beside him.

On the screen was an old corporate registry containing the names of several companies linked to Marcus Black.

Andrew pointed to one entry.

"Look at the date."

I leaned closer.

The company had been established shortly before my biological parents died.

Its registered address was an office in Paris.

And the name of its original legal representative was the same man whose name had appeared in the investigator's call.

Marcus Black's former attorney.

"What does this mean?" I asked.

"It means he may have been involved in the financial arrangements surrounding your parents' estate."

"May have been?"

"I won't tell you something is true until I can prove it."

I appreciated that about him.

Even now, he refused to offer me a comforting lie.

I read through the entry again.

"Can we contact him?"

"Not yet. If he's already searching for those files, he knows someone is investigating him."

I sat back.

"Then we make him come to us."

Andrew turned toward me.

"How?"

I allowed myself a small, cold smile.

"We announce that Inv Co. is reviewing the remaining assets connected to Asgarr. We let it appear that we're interested only in Tyler's company."

"And while everyone watches Tyler?"

"We follow the money."

Andrew's smile was slow and approving.

"That's my girl."

The words warmed me more than they should have.

I looked away before he could notice.

Then his laptop chimed.

An email had arrived from the investigator.

The subject line read: RECOVERED ARCHIVE — URGENT.

Andrew opened it.

A scanned document appeared on the screen.

It was a letter dated twenty-seven years earlier, signed by Marcus Black.

The first paragraph referred to a transaction involving Richard and Elena Leblanc.

My biological parents.

I leaned forward, my heart pounding.

The letter contained a sentence that made the room seem suddenly airless.

The transfer must be completed before the Leblanc couple discovers the true beneficiary of the Black family's arrangement.

I read it twice.

"Andrew..."

He was already scrolling. Beneath the letter was a second document and a list of beneficiaries. My eyes moved down the page and then stopped.

The name printed beside the final entry was not mine, It was Tyler's. I barely slept that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the document.

Richard and Elena Leblanc.

Marcus Black.

Tyler's name beside an arrangement that had begun before I was old enough to remember anything.

What had my parents discovered?

Why had their estate been connected to the Black family?

And why had someone gone to such lengths to keep the truth buried?

At four in the morning, I finally gave up on sleep and walked into the study.

Andrew was already there.

He sat at the desk with several documents spread before him.

"You haven't slept either," I said.

He looked up.

"Neither have you."

I sat opposite him.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

He closed the folder.

"I think Marcus Black knew more about your parents than we initially suspected."

"And Tyler?"

"I don't know how much Tyler knew."

I studied his face.

"Do you believe he had something to do with their deaths?"

Andrew didn't answer immediately.

"I believe the evidence deserves to be investigated. I won't accuse him of murder without proof."

I nodded slowly.

That was the difference between justice and revenge.

Revenge wanted an enemy.

Justice demanded the truth.

Before I could speak again, Andrew's phone rang.

The investigator.

He answered and listened.

Then his expression changed.

"What do you mean, missing?"

A pause.

"Who had access to the file?"

Another pause.

Andrew stood.

"Don't touch anything. We're coming."

He ended the call.

"What happened?" I asked.

"The original archive was stored in a private records facility. Someone broke into the storage room overnight."

My stomach tightened.

"Were the documents stolen?"

"Some of them."

"Which ones?"

Andrew looked directly at me.

"The documents concerning your parents."

I stood.

"Then someone knows we've found them."

He nodded.

"And they're trying to erase the evidence."

My phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number appeared.

You were warned to stop digging.

A second message followed.

Now you'll learn what happened to the last person who asked questions about the Leblanc family.

I stared at the screen.

Then a third message appeared.

It contained a photograph of an old newspaper clipping.

The headline announced the deaths of Richard and Elena Leblanc in a car accident.

Someone had circled a man standing in the background of the photograph.

The caption beneath him read:

MARCUS BLACK ATTENDS MEMORIAL SERVICE.

I looked at Andrew.

"Why would Marcus attend my parents' memorial?"

Andrew's face had gone pale.

"Because, Penelope..."

He took the phone from my hand and enlarged the photograph.

The man standing beside Marcus was someone neither of us had expected to see.

Tyler's father wasn't alone.

Standing beside him was a younger man whose face I recognized immediately.

Andrew's.