Chapter 3 - THE SISTER WHO WANTED EVERYTHING
Vivian watched the terrace doors with growing fury.
For twenty-eight years, she had been the daughter people noticed.
The one invited to charity luncheons.
The one photographed at openings.
The one their father introduced as the future face of Beckett Freight.
Delia, two years younger, had always been useful.
Reliable.
Quiet.
And conveniently willing to work.
Vivian had never considered that arrangement unfair.
Until Casimir Varo walked past her.
When Delia returned, Vivian intercepted her beside the staircase.
“What did you say to him?”
Delia blinked.
“Good evening to you too.”
“Don't be clever.”
“Then ask a better question.”
Vivian's expression hardened.
“You embarrassed me.”
“How?”
“He came here to meet Father.”
“He did meet Father.”
“And you dragged him outside.”
Delia looked at her.
“He asked me to accompany him.”
Vivian laughed.
“Please. Men like Casimir Varo don't become interested in women like you.”
Delia felt the familiar sting.
But this time, something was different.
She remembered Casimir's words.
Someone has been using your intelligence.
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” she said.
Vivian stepped closer.
“You think wearing his jacket makes you special?”
Delia looked down.
She had forgotten she was still wearing it.
Before she could answer, Harlan approached.
“Delia. My office. Now.”
The private suite upstairs smelled of cigar smoke and expensive leather.
Harlan closed the door.
“What did you tell Varo?”
Delia folded her hands.
“We discussed the freight advance.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“He says the original amount was two hundred thousand.”
Harlan stared.
Then laughed.
“Of course he does.”
“He says the additional six hundred twenty thousand was never authorized.”
Harlan's expression hardened.
“You have no idea how these arrangements work.”
“Then explain them.”
“I don't answer to my daughter.”
“You asked me to manage the accounts.”
“I asked you to do your job.”
Delia felt something inside her settle.
“Then I need the supporting documents.”
Harlan stepped closer.
“You will stop asking questions.”
“Forty-three employees depend on those accounts.”
“Those employees depend on me.”
Delia held his gaze.
“No. They depend on being paid.”
For a moment, she thought he might strike her.
Instead, Harlan pointed toward the door.
“Get out.”
She moved past him.
Then stopped.
“Father?”
He looked up.
“If those records are wrong, somebody will find out.”
May you like
His expression became cold.
“Then you'd better hope it isn't you.”
