Clara walked through the manicured lawns of the Lancaster estate with a sense of unease wrapped in calm composure. Her heels clicked steadily against the marble tiles as she approached the east wing—a place she'd deliberately avoided in her past life. But not this time.
In her past life, this hallway led to the deal that shattered her father's empire.
The golden plaque above the mahogany door read Investor Relations & Development. But Clara knew what it truly meant—the lair of the trap.
Five years ago, when she was still trying to prove her worth to the arrogant Damien and win the approval of her distant in-laws, Clara had unknowingly encouraged her father to enter a joint venture with a man named Leonard Brooks. On paper, Leonard seemed trustworthy—family friend, suave, with an MBA from Harvard and an impressive portfolio of "silent wins."
But it was all smoke and mirrors.
The investment collapsed six months later. Clara's father, Thomas Lancaster, had to liquidate key shares to cover the losses. The humiliation pushed him into seclusion, and though no one said it outright, everyone blamed her.
But not this time.
Now, Leonard Brooks had returned—years earlier than he had in her last timeline—and this time, she was ready.
"Miss Lancaster," came a smooth, oily voice as she entered the room. Leonard Brooks stood by the window, swirling a glass of wine with a snake-like smile on his face. "How wonderful to see you again. I was just speaking to your grandfather about the potential expansion project in Abuja. He seems… intrigued."
Clara's smile didn't waver. "Mr. Brooks. What a surprise. I didn't expect you here so soon."
Leonard's eyes gleamed. "Business waits for no one."
She remembered that line. He'd said the same thing before convincing her father to transfer ₦500 million into a fake holding company.
"True," she replied, her tone light but firm. "But I always say good business needs patience. And thorough research."
Leonard raised a brow. "A wise quote. I see time has polished you, Clara."
"You could say that," she said, taking a seat.
He gestured toward the glossy table where blueprints, proposals, and financial projections lay scattered like bait. Clara's eyes skimmed the top pages. It was the same project from before: A massive eco-tourism resort in partnership with a mysterious foreign investor.
Same lies, different packaging.
"I hear you'll be playing a more active role in the Lancaster Corporation," Leonard said, sipping his wine. "That's exciting."
Clara's nails dug subtly into her palm. In the last timeline, he said the same thing, and I thought it was praise. It was manipulation.
"Yes," she said sweetly. "But I'm more interested in due diligence now. We've all learned from past mistakes."
Leonard chuckled. "Of course. That's why we've brought in outside auditors. Would you like to meet them?"
Fake names. Fake titles. Fake everything, Clara thought. She needed evidence. Real proof of fraud. Her grandfather respected receipts more than hunches.
"I'd love that," she said. "But first, tell me—who exactly is the investor behind this proposal? The report you gave Grandpa was vague."
Leonard smiled with the poise of a professional liar. "A private consortium from Dubai. Discreet money. Very influential."
"Name?"
He blinked. "They prefer anonymity."
Clara's smile widened. "Then Lancaster Corporation prefers caution."
The silence stretched.
Leonard's eyes narrowed, but he quickly masked it with charm. "Of course. I'll send more documentation."
And I'll be waiting to dissect every forged document, Clara thought.
Later that evening, Clara sat in her temporary office with her laptop open, scanning every line of Leonard's emailed proposal. The investment firm supposedly funding the project was called Emerald Dunes Capital. It hadn't existed in her past life—because Leonard hadn't needed to hide behind this name yet.
She ran the company through a background check tool.
No digital footprint.
No board of directors.
No official registration in Dubai.
She copied the firm's domain and opened the source code of the website. It had been purchased a week ago from a Nigerian-based hosting provider. Amateur mistake.
She smiled coldly.
Clara hit print on the evidence and slid the papers into a manila folder. She was getting close—but exposing Leonard would take more than proving the company was fake. She needed a financial link. A payment. A ledger. Something that tied Leonard directly to the fraud.
She needed bait.
And the only person stupid—or greedy—enough to give her that was Rhea.
The next morning, Clara walked into Rosehill Café, where she had arranged to meet Rhea under the pretense of reconnecting over brunch.
Rhea waltzed in five minutes late, dressed in designer knock-offs and carrying an energy that reeked of ambition and envy.
"Clara! You look so different!" she squealed, hugging her.
Clara returned the embrace like a snake handler gently gripping a cobra.
"You too," she said.
They ordered mimosas and avocado toast. Clara kept the conversation light, steering it toward fashion and mutual acquaintances—most of whom Clara knew would be future enemies.
"So, what's this I hear about you working at your grandfather's firm now?" Rhea asked, eyes sparkling.
Clara nodded. "Just trying to help where I can. He's getting older, and I feel like it's time to take some responsibility."
Rhea sipped her drink, then leaned in. "And Leonard Brooks? I heard he's got some mega-deal lined up."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "You know him?"
Rhea laughed. "Please. I've been working part-time as an event planner. I met him at a golf fundraiser last month. He was practically handing out contracts like party favors."
Clara's heart skipped.
This was it.
"He mentioned something about needing someone to do some 'admin work' for the Abuja project," Rhea continued. "Off-the-books, of course. I wasn't sure if it was legit."
Clara kept her voice even. "It might be. I could ask around. Want me to put in a word?"
Rhea's eyes lit up like a greedy child in a candy store. "Would you? That would be amazing!"
"Of course," Clara smiled. "But I'll need a favor."
"Anything."
"If he gives you access to any documents—copies, receipts, emails—I'd love if you could send them to me. Just so I can help speed up internal approval. You know, keep Grandpa happy."
Rhea hesitated for a second, then grinned. "Deal."
Hook. Line. Sinker.
Three days later, Clara received a message from Rhea with an attachment. The subject line was simple: From Mr. B.
The file contained scanned documents showing a ₦300 million advance being requested by Leonard's team—allegedly for "preliminary groundwork." But what caught Clara's eye was a payment instruction note, directing funds to a private account under a different name: M.E. Holdings (Mauritius).
She had seen that name before.
In the last timeline, her father mentioned it briefly as one of the shell accounts tied to the collapse.
Clara printed the documents and immediately booked a private meeting with her grandfather.
When she stepped into her grandfather's library, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken authority. Arthur Lancaster sat behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose.
"Clara," he said, not looking up. "I've been hearing a lot of chatter about you questioning one of our investors."
She took a deep breath. "Grandpa, I have reason to believe Leonard Brooks is attempting to scam us."
That made him look up.
She placed the folder on his desk. "That company? Fake. The website was made last week. The funding source? Unregistered. And now, he's asking for a ₦300 million advance into a shell company that's been linked to multiple financial collapses."
He flipped through the pages, his frown deepening.
"Rhea helped me get these documents," she added. "She thought she was helping him, but I asked her to share anything she got. This—" she tapped the payment note, "—is how it started last time."
Arthur looked at her for a long moment. Then leaned back in his chair.
"You knew about this before it happened?"
Clara met his eyes. "Let's just say…I've seen this happen before."
"You're hiding something."
"I'm protecting our family."
He drummed his fingers against the table. "I'll have my internal audit team investigate. Quietly. If what you say is true, we'll cut Leonard loose."
"And if it's not?"
"Then you'll have proven you're too paranoid to handle responsibility."
Clara nodded. "Fair enough."
As she left the library, her heart pounded. She had altered the course of disaster. In her past life, by this time, the ₦300 million was already gone. Her father was in debt. Her grandfather was furious. She was the scapegoat.
But now?
Now her grandfather was watching closely. And Leonard would have no idea where the storm was coming from.
That night, Leonard called Rhea.
"I thought you said Clara wasn't suspicious?" he hissed.
"She isn't! She said she was just helping fast-track things for her grandfather—"
"She's been snooping. I had a call from Arthur's assistant. There's an internal audit now."
"You think she ratted you out?"
Leonard paused. "No. I think she's playing a longer game."
He ended the call and stared out his penthouse window.
She knows something. And if I don't shut her down now… she'll ruin everything.
To Be Continued...