Victoria sat on the floor, the file open in her lap, a cold feeling spreading through her chest. This wasn’t just history; this was ammunition.
Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her. A secure message notification.
*Dominic: Watch your back. My father is done with the financial attacks. He’s shifting to personal history. He has Cynthia looking into the ’98 crash. He thinks there’s a skeleton in the closet.*
Victoria stared at the screen, then down at the file in her lap.
Dominic was right. Arthur wasn’t looking for money anymore; he was looking for *this*. If Arthur found out that William’s father–the man William idolized and feared becoming–was involved in embezzlement or a cover-up, it wouldn’t just hurt the stock price. It would destroy William.
She quickly gathered the papers and shoved them back into the lockbox, snapping it shut.
“He can’t find this,” Victoria whispered to the empty room.
She realized with a jolt that the war hadn’t ended in the boardroom. It had just moved into the ghosts of the past. And she was holding the smoking gun.