PART 2: A Stranger Let Me Sleep on His Shoulder—Then My Ex-Husband Found Me Before the Plane Even Landed -030
“My family does.”
“So sell your shares if you don’t like it.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“Nothing involving billionaires ever seems simple.”
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“Unfortunately.”
Then his expression darkened.
“The vote is close. Very close. Someone has been leaking private board information for months. Yesterday a journalist published details about negotiations that only seven people knew.”
“So reporters follow you.”
“And investors. Activists. People hoping to photograph me with anyone they can identify.”
Elena folded her arms.
“And my husband somehow knows who you are and told me not to sign anything you give me.”
“Yes.”
“Coincidence?”
“No.”
The elevator chimed.
Mara immediately moved toward it.
Two people entered.
A silver-haired woman carrying a leather folder and a younger man with a laptop.
The woman stopped when she saw Elena.
The folder slipped slightly in her hand.
Her face went completely still.
“Dear God.”
Adrian noticed.
“Catherine?”
The woman stared at Elena.
Not vaguely.
Not curiously.
She stared as if Elena had stepped out of a grave.
“What’s wrong?” Adrian asked.
Catherine whispered, “What’s her last name?”
“Elena Morales.”
The woman sat down.
Nobody spoke.
Then Catherine asked one question.
“What was your father’s name?”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“Mateo.”
Catherine closed her eyes.
“Mateo Morales.”
“You knew my father?”
Catherine looked at Adrian.
Then back at Elena.
“Yes.”
Elena’s pulse began hammering.
“How?”
The attorney placed her folder on the table.
“Your father helped build the company that made Adrian’s family wealthy.”
Elena laughed.
She didn’t mean to.
The sound simply escaped because the alternative was screaming.
“My father repaired industrial electrical systems.”
“That is what he did after 1998,” Catherine said.
“No. That’s what he always did.”
“That’s what he told you.”
“My father didn’t know anything about financial technology.”
Catherine opened the folder.
Inside was an old photograph.
Two young men stood beside a primitive computer workstation.
One Elena recognized immediately.
Her father.
Mateo Morales.
He looked twenty-five.
Black hair.
Wide smile.
An expression Elena barely remembered because by the time she was old enough to form lasting memories, her father had become a quiet man burdened by invisible worries.
The other man resembled Adrian.
Not exactly.
But enough.
Adrian whispered, “My father.”
Catherine nodded.
“Daniel Prescott and Mateo Morales met at Rice University in 1991. Mateo was a mathematics student from Monterrey. Daniel studied computer science. Together they designed a security architecture for encrypted financial transactions.”
Adrian stared at the picture.
“My father never mentioned him.”
“He was instructed not to.”
“By whom?”
“Mateo.”
Elena shook her head.
“This is impossible.”
Catherine pulled out another document.
A patent.
Then incorporation papers.
Then a handwritten agreement.
The signatures were unmistakable.
Daniel Prescott.
Mateo Morales.
Elena recognized her father’s handwriting.
Her world narrowed.
Catherine continued.
“Your father didn’t want publicity. His family in Mexico had been threatened after early investors learned what the technology could be worth. Daniel eventually became the public face of the company.”
“And my father?”
“He withdrew.”
“Why?”
Catherine paused.
“We don’t know.”
Elena touched the photograph.
“He died when I was seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“Car accident outside Saltillo.”
“I know.”
“What does this have to do with Ethan?”
Catherine looked at Adrian.
“Everything.”
She removed another packet.
“The original company agreement created a founder trust. Mateo owned twelve percent of Prescott Systems.”
Adrian went silent.
Elena stared.
“Twelve percent?”
“At incorporation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That ownership was diluted over time, reorganized through mergers and holding companies, but protected by several unusual clauses.”
“How much is it now?”
Catherine hesitated.
“Economically?”
“Yes.”
“Depending on valuation…”
She looked Elena directly in the eyes.
“Somewhere between three-point-eight and four-point-six billion dollars.”
Elena burst out laughing again.
Nobody joined her.
She stopped.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My father died with medical bills.”
“I know.”
“My mother worked until she was sixty-three.”
Catherine’s face tightened.
“I know.”
“We sold his truck to pay funeral expenses.”
“I am sorry.”
Elena stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“No.”
She paced toward the window.
“No. No, you don’t get to sit there and tell me my father secretly owned billions while my mother was rationing insulin and pretending she wasn’t hungry.”
Adrian’s eyes snapped toward Catherine.
“Why wasn’t the trust paying distributions?”
“It was never activated.”
“Why?”
“Because Mateo made the conditions extremely restrictive.”
Catherine turned to Elena.
“The beneficiary had to be located independently. No Prescott executive, director, or current shareholder was permitted to contact Mateo’s heirs directly. He feared coercion.”
“That’s insane.”
“It was designed that way.”
“What activates it?”
“A verified claim initiated by the beneficiary or her legal spouse after the death of the final trustee.”
The room became silent.
Elena slowly turned around.
“Legal spouse.”
Catherine nodded.
“The final trustee died seven months ago.”
Seven months.
Elena thought back.
Seven months ago Ethan had become strangely attentive to paperwork.
Tax forms.
Estate documents.
Requests for copies of her birth certificate.
Questions about her father’s full legal name.
At the time he claimed their accountant needed everything.
Three months later, Ethan began pushing Elena to sign a stack of documents he described as estate-planning forms.
She had refused because Lily had been sick.
He had become furious.
Not normal irritation.
Fury.
Then the affair photographs appeared.
Then he changed.
Cold.
Mocking.
Distant.
Then the locks.
Then the bank account.
Elena whispered, “He knew.”
Catherine did not answer.
She didn’t need to.
Adrian looked at the attorney.
“How would Ethan Walker know about a sealed founder trust?”
Catherine’s expression became grim.
“That is the more disturbing question.”
The younger attorney turned his laptop.
“Mr. Walker worked at Latham Crowe Consulting from 2018 until 2023.”
Adrian swore quietly.
Elena looked between them.
“What?”
Adrian’s eyes had hardened.
“Latham Crowe handled internal compliance reviews for Prescott Holdings.”
Catherine nodded.
“Including archived beneficial ownership records.”
The younger attorney continued.
“Ethan was on the digitization team.”
Elena stopped breathing.
“He met me in 2020.”
Catherine looked at her.
“Where?”
“At a charity fundraiser.”
“Which fundraiser?”
Elena tried to remember.
A hotel ballroom.
A children’s literacy event.
Ethan accidentally spilling champagne near her dress.
Laughing.
Offering a napkin.
Calling her the following afternoon because he’d persuaded the organizer to give him her number.
She whispered the name of the event.
The younger attorney typed.
Then looked up.
“Latham Crowe sponsored it.”
Elena sat down.
The room disappeared around her.
Every anniversary.
Every kiss.
Every Sunday breakfast.
Every time Ethan had called her beautiful.
