Then he discovered something.
Evidence suggested that the crash involving our parents might not have been accidental.
Someone had interfered with the vehicle before they left.
And financial records pointed toward Richard Vance.
Julian’s father.
“If I had come home walking and immediately started asking questions, I would’ve announced that I knew something,” Mason explained.
“So you stayed in the wheelchair?”
“Yes.”
“For fifteen years?”
“For fifteen years, I watched.”
Richard Vance had built a logistics empire after our parents died.
Several contracts that once belonged to Sterling Shipyard eventually moved toward companies connected to him.
Years earlier, our grandfather had refused to let Richard use our private docks for transactions he didn’t trust.
After that refusal, Sterling Shipyard experienced unexplained financial pressure.
Damaged equipment.
Lost contracts.
Then came our parents’ crash.
Years later, Julian appeared in my life.
He was polished.
Thoughtful.
Patient.
He never rushed our relationship.
He earned my trust gradually.
Eventually, I married him.
As one of the main Sterling heirs, I owned twenty-five percent of the shipyard and controlled a crucial deciding vote involving valuable waterfront development property.
“He needed my shares,” I whispered.
Mason nodded.
“And he needed you removed from the decision-making process.”
He switched on a tablet.
A local news broadcast appeared.
