Chapter 183 Victoria’s Shadow
Annabelle sat at her desk long after midnight. The only light came from her laptop screen, washing her face in a pale glow.
Papers were scattered aHale the table—financial records, court transcripts, and old contracts. Her eyes burned from reading, but she couldn’t stop.
The name had caught her off guard—Victoria—buried deep in one of the old financial transfers from her father’s company. At first, it seemed like nothing. Just another name on a long list of investors. But when she followed the trail, her stomach had turned.
The money had moved from her father’s business to a company called V.M. Holdings, which led to another—Marclen Group—and then, finally, to a quiet account owned by Victoria herself.
Victoria. Carson’s mother.
Annabelle stared at the screen, her mind racing. She whispered to herself, “Why would your mother’s name appear here, Carson?”
Her thoughts tangled as she clicked through the files again. The transfer was small, almost invisible among the others. It could have easily been a coincidence, but her instincts told her otherwise.
She reached for her phone and called her assistant.
“Clara,” she said when the sleepy voice answered. “I need you to dig up something for me. Look for any business links between V.M. Holdings and Victoria Hensley. Anything—charities, partnerships, old investments.”
Clara hesitated. “At this hour?”
“Yes,” Annabelle said sharply. “It’s important.”
“Alright,” Clara replied, her tone changing. “Give me an hour.”
Annabelle ended the call and sat back, rubbing her temples. Her thoughts went back to years ago—to the day of her father’s sentencing. She remembered Victoria sitting quietly in the courtroom, her face calm, almost detached. Back then, Annabelle had assumed she was there to support Carson, who had been her friend even then.
But now, that memory twisted in her chest.
She remembered the way Victoria had watched her—not with pity, but with something colder, almost calculating.
Her phone buzzed. Clara’s message appeared:
> “Found something. V.M. Holdings made several donations to Victoria’s foundation five years ago. Large sums. The timing matches the first phase of your father’s legal troubles.”
Annabelle’s pulse quickened. She read the message twice, her fingers trembling. She typed back quickly:
> “Who owns V.M. Holdings?”
A few minutes later, another message arrived.
> “Officially, it’s under a man named Leonard Graves. But he’s just a front. The real owner is hidden under a private trust. Guess whose name shows up on the trustee list?”
Annabelle didn’t need to guess.
> “Victoria Hensley.”
Annabelle stared at the screen, the room suddenly feeling smaller. “No,” she whispered. “This can’t be right.”
Her heart pounded as she grabbed her phone again and dialed Carson. He answered on the second ring.
“Annabelle?” His voice sounded thick with sleep. “It’s late. What’s wrong?”
“Carson,” she said quickly, “I found something—about your mother.”
There was a pause. “My mother?”
“Yes. She’s connected to one of the shell companies that moved money out of my father’s business before the case started. It’s her, Carson. The transfers lead to her foundation.”
He sat up, his tone changing. “That’s impossible. My mother wouldn’t have anything to do with that.”
“I have proof,” Annabelle said firmly. “Her name appears in the trustee list of the company that received the funds.”
Carson exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm. “You’re tired. You’ve been looking at numbers and names for hours. You’re drawing lines that don’t exist.”
“I’m not!” she snapped. “You keep saying that, but I know what I saw. The money trail is real.”
He went silent. She could almost hear him thinking.
Finally, he said, “Annabelle, listen to me. My mother has nothing to do with your father’s downfall. She wouldn’t even—”
“Then why was she at his trial?” Annabelle interrupted. “Why did she speak to the prosecutors behind closed doors?”
“What are you talking about?” Carson asked sharply.
Annabelle stood, pacing the room. “I remember her, Carson. She was there every day, sitting in the back, watching everything
I thought she was there for you, but she was always near the people who destroyed my father. She even spoke to one of them outside the courtroom. I saw her.”
Carson’s tone softened, but there was tension underneath. “Annabelle, please stop this. You’re chasing ghosts. My mother isn’t who you think she is.”
“Then who is she?” Annabelle demanded.
He didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You don’t understand what you’re getting into. Just drop it, please.”
Annabelle’s hand tightened around her phone. “I can’t. Not after everything I’ve seen.”
“Annabelle—”
She ended the call before he could finish.
Her chest rose and fell quickly as she leaned against the desk. Carson’s reaction only confirmed her fear. He wasn’t surprised. He was scared.
She turned back to the files, opening one of the earliest transactions again. Her cursor hovered over the name—V.M. Holdings. She clicked through the attached document, scrolling down until she found the authorizing signature.
Her breath caught. The signature wasn’t her father’s. It was forged—but not by a stranger.
It was the same looping handwriting she had seen before—on a card Victoria once gave her during a charity event.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Annabelle?” Carson’s voice called softly from the other side. “Can we talk?”
She froze. “Carson? What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you,” he said. His tone was calm, but it sent a shiver down her spine.
Annabelle closed her laptop quickly and stood, glancing toward the door. “It’s late. You didn’t need to come.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t want us to end that call like that. Please, open the door.”
Her heart raced as she hesitated. She could hear the strain in his voice, but something about it felt wrong—too steady, too controlled.
She took a step closer to the door but didn’t open it. “Carson,” she said softly, “did you know?”
There was silence.
Then, almost in a whisper, he said, “Just stop digging, Annabelle.”
Her stomach turned.
When she looked through the peephole, the hallway was empty. He was gone.
Annabelle pressed her back against the door, her hands trembling. The screen of her laptop glowed faintly on the table, the last opened file showing the line that connected her father’s fall to Victoria’s name.
She closed her eyes, her heart pounding with dread.
The thread she had pulled had led straight into Victoria’s shadow.