The office was unusually quiet when Siena walked in the next morning.
It wasn't the peaceful kind of quiet either—it was the kind that felt like something was about to break.
Every glance lingered a little too long. Every whisper stopped when she passed. Even her assistant gave her a tight-lipped nod instead of the usual "Good morning."
Something was wrong.
She headed straight to her office, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Just as she reached her door, she spotted it.
A small envelope.
Unmarked. No logo. Just sitting there on her desk like it belonged.
She picked it up cautiously and opened it.
One photo slid out first. Then another.
And then a third.
She stared.
The first photo showed her and Alexander—standing on the balcony two nights ago. Her head rested against his shoulder.
The second showed them in the parking garage last week—his hand on the small of her back.
And the third… the third was from her apartment hallway.
A shot of them kissing. Blurry, but unmistakable.
There was a note, scrawled in red ink:
"How long before everyone sees the truth?"
Her fingers trembled. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay calm.
There was no return address. No name. Just the photos. Just the threat.
She picked up her phone and dialed.
He answered on the second ring.
"Siena?"
"Someone's watching us."
---
Alexander was already in his office when she arrived twenty minutes later, the photos in hand. His jaw tightened as he flipped through them.
"Do you think it's Withers?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "But someone wants us to feel exposed."
"It's working," she muttered.
Alexander put the photos down and looked at her. "They're not just watching. They're testing boundaries. Seeing how far they can push."
"They want me to back off."
He nodded. "Or they want to remind us we're vulnerable."
Siena sat down across from him. "We need to move fast. If they're watching us this closely, we don't have time to wait for the board review next month."
Alexander leaned back, his brow furrowed. "Halver's working on cracking the rest of the ledger. Celeste is digging through her old files. But we're still blind to who's pulling the strings."
Siena was silent for a moment. Then she looked up.
"There's someone else," she said.
"Who?"
"My father's old lawyer—Gregory Shaw. He disappeared right after my dad's funeral. No contact, no explanation. But he handled most of Dad's private assets. If anyone knows where the bodies are buried, it's him."
Alexander frowned. "Can you find him?"
"I already tried before. No luck. But maybe now… with the right resources..."
"I'll get Halver on it."
Siena nodded, then hesitated. "Alexander, what if we're too late? What if they've already buried it all?"
He met her eyes. "Then we dig deeper."
---
That night, Siena drove to her mother's townhouse again, her thoughts tangled and heavy.
Celeste opened the door looking tired, a robe tied loosely around her waist. Her eyes were red, but she didn't mention it.
"I didn't think I'd see you so soon," she said.
"I have more questions."
"Come in."
They sat at the kitchen table this time, a half-drunk glass of wine already in front of Celeste. Siena didn't ask how long she'd been there.
"Do you remember the name Gregory Shaw?" Siena asked without preamble.
Celeste stilled. "Yes. He was one of your father's most trusted lawyers."
"Do you know where he went?"
"No." A pause. "But I know why he left."
Siena's heart thumped. "Why?"
Celeste picked up the wineglass and stared into it. "Because your father asked him to."
Siena blinked. "What?"
"Gregory was planning to go public. Your father convinced him not to. Paid him off. Told him to disappear if he ever wanted his family safe."
"Safe from who?"
"From the people Harold Withers was dealing with. And from Harold himself."
Siena sat back, stunned. "So Dad knew Harold couldn't be trusted?"
Celeste nodded. "He knew. But by the time he realized it, it was too late."
Siena exhaled slowly. "We have to find Gregory."
"I can try. There may be a contact in your father's old journal. It's in the attic."
"Can I go up?"
Celeste stood. "I'll help you."
---
The attic smelled like dust and forgotten memories. Old boxes lined the walls, each labeled with elegant handwriting. Siena and Celeste worked side by side, sifting through documents, notebooks, and journals.
After nearly an hour, Siena found it.
A brown leather-bound notebook with cracked edges. Her father's handwriting was inside.
She flipped through it carefully, her fingers trembling slightly. Names, dates, sketches, and then… an address.
Gregory Shaw – 14 Alder Grove, Windridge.
Her pulse quickened.
Windridge was barely two hours away.
---
Two days later, Siena and Alexander stood in front of a weathered cottage surrounded by pine trees and quiet wind.
"Are we sure about this?" Alexander asked, eyeing the peeling paint and broken mailbox.
Siena nodded. "Only one way to find out."
She walked up to the door and knocked.
For a while, there was nothing.
Then the door creaked open, and a man in his late sixties appeared, wearing a worn sweater and cautious eyes.
"Yes?"
Siena stepped forward. "Gregory Shaw?"
He didn't respond.
"My name is Siena Hart. Harold Withers tried to bury what my father knew. I think you can help us dig it up."
The man's expression changed—just barely. A flicker of recognition. A shadow of hesitation.
Then, after a pause, he opened the door wider.
"You'd better come in."
---
The inside of the house was simple—minimal furniture, bookshelves heavy with law journals, and a single photo of a woman on the mantle.
Gregory gestured for them to sit.
"You're the first person to ever find me," he said quietly. "Your father always said you'd be the one."
Siena's voice caught. "He did?"
"He told me if anything ever happened to him, one day his daughter would come asking questions. I didn't believe him."
"I need to know everything," she said. "About Harold. About the offshore transfers. About the threats."
Gregory looked at her, then at Alexander, leaned back in his chair.
"Your father was never part of the laundering. That was Withers. But Harold needed Hartline's credibility to cover his tracks. Your father didn't realize until the last year of his life. When he tried to get out, Harold threatened him."
"With what?"
Gregory hesitated. "You. And your mother. He said accidents could happen. That there were people overseas who handled loose ends."
Siena's stomach twisted.
"So my father paid you to disappear?"
Gregory nodded. "He wanted to protect me—and the files I had. I've kept everything."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a battered hard drive.
"Every transaction, every coded account, every hidden transfer Withers made under Hartline's name. It's all here. And if you're serious about bringing him down... you'll need it."
Siena took the drive, her hands shaking. "We are."
Gregory looked at Alexander. "Then watch your backs. Harold doesn't play fair. And the deeper you go, the more dangerous it gets."
"We know," Alexander said. "But it's time someone finished what Harold started."
Gregory gave them a tight nod. "Then God help you both."
---
That night, as they drove back in silence, Siena stared out the window, the hard drive clutched tightly in her lap.
For the first time, she felt the full weight of what they were up against.
They weren't just trying to expose a corrupt businessman.
They were going to war with a man who buried enemies in silence.
But now she had something Harold hadn't expected.
She had proof.
And she had Alexander.
And together, they were going to burn down every paper shield Harold had ever built.