He Slapped the Wrong Daughter

Chapter 04 - A Voice from the Dead

Maren heard her mother's voice at 2:17 in the morning.

She was sitting in the crisis room at Vale Meridian's Hudson office, a windowless executive suite designed for cyberattacks, hostile takeovers, and emergencies no one wanted mentioned in annual reports. Her cheek had been cleaned by a private nurse. The red mark remained. A photographer had documented it for legal reasons while Maren stared at the wall and pretended her soul had stepped out for air.

Evelyn sat across from her with two laptops open and her hair twisted into a knot with a pencil. Noah stood near the door. Callum Price occupied the far end of the table like a man awaiting sentencing.

He had not stopped apologizing.

Maren had finally told him, "If you apologize again, I will make you eat one of Evelyn's nondisclosure agreements."

It was the first time Evelyn smiled all night.

Then the recovered file opened.

Static filled the room.

A timestamp appeared on the screen.

Six years earlier. The night Helena Vale died.

Maren's chest locked.

"You don't have to listen," Evelyn said gently.

"Yes," Maren said. "I do."

The audio crackled, then settled into two voices.

Helena's was weaker than Maren remembered. Tired. Thin around the edges. But still elegant. Still precise.

"Roland, I need you to promise me something."

A younger version of Roland sighed. "Not tonight, Helena."

"Tonight especially."

There was a rustle, maybe sheets. Helena had been in the upstairs bedroom then, supposedly recovering from a procedure. The official story had always been complications. Sudden downturn. Nothing suspicious.

"Maren is not yours to use," Helena said.

Silence.

Then Roland, lower. "She is my daughter."

"She is a person. There is a difference you have never understood."

Maren pressed a fist against her mouth.

The recording continued.

Helena spoke again. "If you try to force her into anything, if you corner her, if you use the company as a cage, the clause will open. I made sure of it."

Roland laughed. "A clause won't save anyone."

"No," Helena said. "But evidence will."

Another voice entered.

Female. Smooth. Younger.

Simone.

"You should rest, Helena. You're getting emotional."

Evelyn's eyes snapped toward Maren.

Maren stared at the laptop.

Simone had not officially entered Roland's life until eight months after Helena's funeral.

But there she was.

In the room.

On the night Helena died.

The audio blurred as if the phone had shifted. Helena coughed. Glass clinked.

"Don't touch that," Helena whispered.

Simone's voice turned honeyed. "It's only water."

Noah moved closer to the table.

The recording filled with a scraping sound, then Roland's voice, sharper now.

"Helena, stop making scenes."

"Maren," Helena gasped.

Maren felt the room tilt.

Her mother's next words were barely audible.

"Tell Maren... the first key is not in the company. It's in the house."

Then a crash.

A chair. A glass. Someone swearing.

The recording ended.

No one spoke.

Callum had gone white.

Evelyn closed her eyes.

Maren could hear her own breathing, shallow and strange.

For six years, she had mourned her mother as a woman taken suddenly by a weak heart.

For six years, Roland had allowed her to blame genetics, grief, God, anything but the people standing in that bedroom.

"Can it be authenticated?" Maren asked.

Her voice sounded like it came from another woman.

Noah answered. "Preliminary metadata is intact. We'll need a forensic lab, but yes. It was recorded on Helena's private device, then copied into the founder archive. Someone tried to purge it tonight."

"Simone," Evelyn said.

"Or Roland."

Maren looked at her.

Evelyn did not soften it. "You need to be ready for both."

Maren stood.

The room shifted into motion around her, but she stayed very still.

"My mother said the first key is in the house."

Noah nodded. "The penthouse?"

"No." Maren's eyes burned. "Not that museum Roland lives in now. The house. The one in Greenwich. The one he locked after she died."

Evelyn's fingers flew over her keyboard. "The property is still owned by the Helena Vale Trust. Roland cannot legally prevent your access now that the protocol is active."

Maren turned to Noah. "Get the car."

"It's almost three in the morning."

"Then traffic will be light."

Evelyn stood too. "Maren, if there is evidence in that house, Simone may know."

"She knows enough to be afraid of it."

Callum rose from his chair, uncertain. "I can come."

Everyone looked at him.

He swallowed. "My aunt keeps an old address book. She writes codes in it. I saw Greenwich listed once with a symbol beside it. I didn't know what it meant. But if she hid something there... I might recognize where."

Maren studied him.

His hands shook. But he did not sit down.

"Fine," she said. "You come."

Noah opened the door.

Maren stepped into the hallway with her mother's dying words still echoing in her ears.

The first key is not in the company.

It's in the house.

By the time they reached the garage, Roland had already sent three messages.