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Relief visibly washed over Oliver’s features. He’d been prepared for tears, perhaps, or confused questions. Not this calm acceptance.
“I’m glad you understand, Mom. This is best for everyone. The check will be deposited directly into your account tomorrow.”
I moved toward the door, signaling our conversation was ending on my terms, not his. “And Oliver, who exactly is behind Monarch Holdings. I’d at least like to know who owns your father’s legacy now.”
“It’s a private investment consortium,” he replied.
The practiced answer of someone who had anticipated this question. “Very discreet, very professional. Their managing director is someone named Elizabeth Windsor, British, I believe.”
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
“Elizabeth Windsor? How interesting.”
“You’ve heard of her?” Oliver asked, sudden weariness creeping into his voice. “The name sounds vaguely familiar,” I replied, my hand on the door knob.
“Now, thank you for handling everything, Oliver. You’ve always been so efficient.”
After he left, I returned to Richard’s desk and unlocked the hidden drawer only he and I knew about, removing a slim leather portfolio. Inside was a complete dossier on Monarch Holdings, including its incorporation documents, tax filings, and the name of its sole shareholder, Amelia Elizabeth Blackwood.
The company that had just purchased Bradford Precision Technologies for a fraction of its worth thanks to the falsified valuation documents Oliver had so helpfully provided to the buyer’s representatives. The phone rang, startling me from my thoughts. My husband’s longtime attorney, Jonathan Mercer, was calling exactly on schedule.
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