Chapter 8 - The File Blake Thought Was Gone
Jenna slept three hours.
Andrew slept none.
At six the next morning, she found him in the study wearing yesterday's shirt and staring at a thirty-year-old photograph of his father, Richard Vale, and Vincent Vaughn.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I have a six-year-old. Three hours counts as a vacation.”
Andrew looked at the photograph.
“Richard taught me how to drive.”
Jenna leaned against the doorway.
“He taught me how to negotiate my first loan. He taught me which fork to use at ridiculous charity dinners. When my father had his second heart attack, Richard ran the company for six months.”
“You don't need to convince yourself he mattered.”
Andrew looked up.
“He did.”
“That doesn't mean he's innocent.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn't erase what he was to you.”
Andrew said nothing.
Jenna understood that silence.
She had experienced her own version with Mason's father.
Not betrayal on this scale.
But enough.
Ethan Reed had been charming when they met.
Funny.
Creative.
Bad at responsibility in ways that looked spontaneous at twenty-five and exhausting at thirty.
When Mason was two, Ethan left.
Not dramatically.
No affair discovered.
No screaming fight.
He simply decided fatherhood made him feel trapped.
He moved west.
Sent birthday cards twice.
Child support inconsistently.
Some betrayals came with villains.
Others came with people you once loved choosing themselves.
Jenna had learned not to waste time pretending history had been meaningless just because the ending hurt.
Her laptop chimed.
Recovered archive ready.
Harborline IT had reconstructed Blake's deleted cloud storage.
Jenna sat.
Andrew moved beside her.
Folders filled the screen.
Invoices.
Performance reviews.
Executive summaries.
Then one directory:
J.R.
Jenna stopped.
Andrew's expression changed.
“Open it.”
She did.
Copies of her emails.
Screenshots of her internal messages.
Draft complaints.
Performance notes.
A file titled:
REED EXIT STRATEGY.
Jenna's hands went cold.
Andrew opened it.
A timeline appeared.
Six months earlier:
Document pattern of insubordination.
Four months earlier:
Limit exposure to executive meetings.
Two months:
Shift ownership of risk models to Pierce.
Three weeks:
Escalation threshold reached.
Nine days before firing:
Pharma scenario viable if override creates measurable loss.
Jenna pushed back from the desk.
“No.”
Andrew's face became terrifyingly still.
“They planned it.”
She stood.
“This isn't just covering something after the fact.”
“No.”
“They created the failure.”
“Yes.”
“Because of me?”
Andrew turned toward her.
“Because you were finding them.”
Jenna wrapped her arms around herself.
He wanted to touch her.
He didn't.
“This file proves it,” Andrew said.
“It proves Blake planned to remove me.”
“It proves conspiracy.”
“With Logan.”
“And possibly Richard.”
“His name isn't here.”
“Doesn't need to be.”
“Yes, it does.”
Andrew looked at her.
Jenna steadied herself.
“We do this right.”
He almost argued.
Then stopped.
She was telling him not to make the mistake she had paid for.
Don't decide guilt before evidence.
“Right.”
They continued.
At the bottom of Blake's directory was a corrupted encrypted archive.
IT estimated hours to recover it.
Jenna looked at the filename.
VINCENT_LEGACY.
Andrew stared.
“Your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“What was his role?”
“In the old family organization?”
“Yes.”
Andrew hesitated.
Jenna waited.
He had spent years refusing to discuss that part of his history.
But secrets were the currency that had created this disaster.
“My uncle handled businesses my father wanted separated from legitimate holdings.”
“What kind?”
“Cash-heavy companies. Warehouses. Import operations. Clubs. Construction.”
“Illegal?”
“Some.”
Jenna absorbed that.
“Were you involved?”
“No.”
She watched him.
He didn't flinch.
“I believe you.”
Again, immediate.
Andrew felt the trust.
A dangerous thing.
“My father wanted me away from it,” he said. “Vincent thought that made me weak.”
“And Richard?”
“Somewhere between them.”
The archive finally opened at 11:06.
Inside were seven spreadsheets.
One contained historical payment channels.
One listed shell entities.
One contained coded initials.
Then Jenna opened the last.
Her breathing stopped.
A column of dates.
Recent dates.
One entry from last week.
J REED — REMOVE / B.T.
Another:
A.V. — CONTROL AFTER ACQUISITION
Jenna pointed.
“What does control mean?”
Andrew didn't answer.
Below it:
M.C. — acquisition option confirmed
Marcus Calder.
Then:
R.V. — final authority
Richard Vale.
There it was.
Not absolute proof.
But close.
Andrew stepped away.
His phone buzzed.
Richard.
For the first time since finding Logan, his godfather was calling.
Andrew looked at the screen.
Jenna whispered, “Answer.”
He did.
“Richard.”
“Andrew.”
The older man's voice was calm.
Warm, even.
“I hear you've had an unpleasant week.”
Andrew nearly laughed.
“You could say that.”
“I'd like to speak privately.”
“Where?”
“My house.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Still stubborn.”
“Still cautious.”
Richard chuckled.
“Your father would approve.”
Andrew's jaw tightened.
“What do you want?”
“To prevent you from making a mistake you can't reverse.”
Andrew looked at Jenna.
She listened.
“What mistake?”
“Trusting an employee you barely know over men who built the company beside your family.”
Jenna's expression didn't change.
Andrew's did.
Richard knew she was with him.
“How do you know who I trust?”
“Savannah talks.”
“Then Savannah should learn discretion.”
“Andrew.”
Richard's voice softened.
“That woman is manipulating you.”
Jenna almost laughed.
“She has motive. Access. Grievance.”
Andrew's eyes went cold.
“So did Blake.”
“Blake panicked.”
“And Logan?”
“A fool.”
“And you?”
Silence.
Then Richard said, “Come see me.”
“Why?”
“Because there are things about your father you don't know.”
Andrew stiffened.
“What things?”
“The reason Magnolia Coast existed.”
Jenna watched him.
Richard continued.
“And the real reason Jenna Reed was supposed to leave Harborline.”
Andrew's grip tightened.
“Supposed?”
Richard realized the mistake.
Too late.
Andrew's voice became ice.
“Not fired. Supposed to leave.”
Richard said nothing.
“You knew.”
The call ended.
Andrew stared at the phone.
Jenna spoke quietly.
“He slipped.”
“Yes.”
“He's scared.”
Andrew looked toward the encrypted archive.
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“He's preparing.”
“For what?”
Before Andrew could answer, the house alarm changed tone.
Not intrusion.
Vehicle alert.
Security called.
“Mr. Vaughn, we have a delivery at the main gate.”
“I didn't order anything.”
“No, sir.”
“What is it?”
The guard hesitated.
“A cardboard box.”
Jenna went cold.
Andrew walked to the monitor.
Security camera.
A plain used box sat outside the gate.
Exactly like the one Jenna had carried out of Harborline.
On top sat a plastic green dinosaur.
One arm missing.
Jenna's face drained.
She ran upstairs.
May you like
Mason's Mr. Chomps was gone.
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