Chapter 4 - THE HIDDEN LEDGERS
I walked down into the basement office where Harland had run the estate operations for seven years. The room was lined with mahogany bookcases, filing cabinets, and framed photographs of Harland shaking hands with high-society figures in Philadelphia.
Viktor stood by the open safe behind the desk, holding a thick, black leather binder.
"What did you find?" I asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.
"Harland hasn't just been managing the estate, boss," Viktor said, turning the pages. "He’s been running an extortion scheme using your name."
I took the binder and began reading.
For three years, Harland had been skimming thirty percent off the salaries of lower-level estate workers—maids, gardeners, kitchen helpers, and maintenance crew. He told them the money was a "Vance Protection Tax" required by me to keep their jobs and avoid being reported to immigration or law enforcement agencies.
Most of the workers were vulnerable widows, immigrants, or people with limited family support. They were terrified of me—the mysterious, powerful billionaire with a dangerous reputation—so they paid Harland in cash every single month without ever daring to approach me.
And Elena Vance had been his primary target.
I flipped to Elena’s file.
Her late husband had been a mid-level contractor for my commercial construction division who died in a structural accident four years ago. I had personally ordered a two-million-dollar insurance settlement to be paid to his widow and child.
According to Harland’s ledger, Harland had intercepted the settlement documents, intercepted her payout through a fraudulent trust account, and told Elena that her husband had died leaving massive debts to my company.
He convinced her that the only way to avoid prison and keep her daughter was to work as an unpaid housekeeper on my estate while handing over her monthly widow’s pension check directly to him!
My blood turned to ice.
Elena wasn't just a sick housekeeper struggling to pay bills. She was an heiress to a multi-million-dollar settlement that I had personally authorized—and Harland had been stealing every penny of it while forcing her three-year-old child to scrub my clothes in freezing water!
"Where is Harland right now?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"In the holding room near the garage," Viktor replied. "He thinks he can buy his way out with his lawyer."
"Call my legal team," I ordered, slamming the leather ledger shut. "And call the District Attorney. I want Harland stripped of every asset he owns by midnight."
"And the girl and her mother?" Viktor asked.
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I looked down at the photograph attached to Elena’s file—a picture of a smiling young family taken four years ago before tragedy struck.
"They aren't workers here anymore," I said softly. "They are my personal responsibility."
