The manager led us into a secure room and opened the deposit box with the key Eleanor had brought.
Inside were several documents, a sealed envelope, and a thick black ledger.
Tobias touched the cover with trembling fingers.
“Dad kept it.”
He opened the first page.
The entries were written in our father’s familiar handwriting. They documented transfers from the shipyard to a series of companies registered under false names. Beside each transaction were dates, signatures, and notes identifying the people who had approved the payments.
Richard Whitmore’s signature appeared repeatedly.
So did Martin Hale’s.
And on several later entries, Garrett’s name appeared in the margins.
The last document was a letter addressed to me.
My hands shook as I unfolded it.
My dear Rosalind,
If you are reading this, something has happened that I prayed you would never have to face. I have spent months trying to protect the shipyard from people who believe a family business is merely something to be bought and sold.
