The address Carter gave them led to a quiet neighborhood on the edge of the city—a far cry from the towering skyscrapers and corporate suites Siena had grown up navigating. The house was small, tucked between a bakery and a flower shop that had both seen better days. The curtains were drawn. A rusted old car sat out front, unmoved for weeks.
Siena double-checked the printout.
"Rebecca Davis," she said quietly, confirming the name. "This is it."
Alexander pulled the car over a few houses away, engine off. "If she's in there, she already knows we're coming. No sense pretending."
Siena nodded but didn't move yet. Her hand hovered over the door handle. "I worked beside her for years. She handled my father's calendar, knew all the right people, and had access to every high-level decision. And all this time…"
Alexander gently touched her shoulder. "You don't have to carry the guilt. She played everyone."
"Still," Siena said, voice tight. "This feels like walking into a memory that wants to kill me."
They got out together.
---
The door opened before they even knocked.
Rebecca stood on the threshold, still wearing the same type of tailored cardigan she always favored at Hartline. Her expression hadn't changed either—composed, professional, unreadable.
"I knew it was a matter of time," she said calmly. "Come in."
Siena stepped in first. Alexander followed, eyes scanning the hallway for anything off. Cameras, recording devices, hidden weapons. But there was nothing—just a modest living room, lined with old books and photos of people Siena didn't recognize.
Rebecca sat down, gesturing toward the sofa. "You're not here to reminisce, I assume."
"No," Siena said. "I'm here to ask why you sold us out."
A flicker passed over Rebecca's face, but it was gone before it settled.
"I didn't sell you out, Siena," she said. "I protected the legacy your father started."
Alexander scoffed. "By laundering money? By working with people like Trent and Dorian Gray?"
Rebecca folded her hands. "Do you know how many times your father tried to dissolve Hartline entirely? Before you ever took over? He wanted out, but the board wouldn't let him walk. They said he owed them. And when they pushed back, he needed help finding a way out."
"Help from who?" Siena asked.
Rebecca met her gaze. "W.H."
The name dropped like a stone between them.
"Harold Withers?" Siena asked. "He's still alive?"
Rebecca hesitated. "Alive, yes. But not the man you remember. Not just a lawyer anymore. He's… more now. He didn't just help your father build escape routes. He built his empire—off your family's name."
Siena stared. "So, my father was planning to leave everything?"
"He wanted to disappear," Rebecca said. "And he needed money to do it. Quietly. He didn't want to take you down with him. That's why he sent you away after college. He hoped the dust would settle."
Siena leaned back, stunned. "Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
"Because it wasn't your burden," Rebecca said. "Until it became one."
Alexander's voice was low. "Why now? Why send Trent those messages? Why the shell accounts, the fake mergers, all of it?"
Rebecca finally stood. Her voice, though still calm, carried an edge.
"Because Withers didn't stop when your father died. He kept using Hartline as a front. He installed Trent, manipulated Gray, and started a network so big it reached into offshore banks, shadow companies, and even parts of Blackwood itself. I tried to cut ties, Siena. I did. But I was in too deep."
Siena stood now, fury in her eyes. "You let Dael die."
Rebecca blinked. "What?"
"She's gone because of them. Because of the secrets you helped hide."
Rebecca's voice faltered. "I didn't know about Dael."
"Then you weren't paying attention," Siena said coldly.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then Rebecca spoke again, this time slower. "There's something you need to see."
She walked to a small cabinet near the bookshelf and unlocked it. From inside, she pulled out a manila envelope. It was thick. Labeled in black marker:
WITHERS // ESCROW // HARTLINE BLACKLEDGER
Rebecca handed it to Siena. "This was never supposed to exist. But your father had it made—insurance. Withers never knew it existed. I kept it, even after he died."
Alexander stepped beside her as Siena opened it.
Inside were dozens of documents—emails, receipts, bank transfers, legal memos. Every piece of paper told the story of how Hartline had slowly become a funnel for something much darker. And at the center of every plan, one name kept reappearing.
W.H.
"We can take him down with this," Alexander said.
Rebecca shook her head. "Not so fast. This proves he exists. That he had a hand in Hartline's dark dealings. But it doesn't tie him to Reeve's kidnapping or the murders. You'll need more."
Siena's jaw set. "Then give us what does."
Rebecca looked almost afraid then. The first crack in her mask. "You won't find it in files."
"Then where?" Siena asked.
Rebecca's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Find Harold. And follow his shadow. That's where the bodies are buried."
---
Back in the car, the mood was electric and heavy all at once.
Siena couldn't stop flipping through the black ledger. Every page was a map of betrayal, but also a roadmap to justice. Her father's name was on some of the earliest documents—but so was Withers'. And in the later years, even Trent's signature appeared—used and discarded.
Alexander was already calling Jasper. "Get Carter. Tell him we've got a name, a ledger, and a target."
"Where do we go from here?" Siena asked, her eyes never leaving the pages.
Alexander shifted into gear, his voice calm but certain.
"We find Withers."
Siena looked over at him. "And if he runs?"
Alexander didn't hesitate. "Then we run faster."