Chapter 12 - Six Days
David’s lawyers moved quickly.
Too slowly for Hannah.
The Morgan Foundation referred the charity discrepancies to Colorado regulators and the state attorney general’s charitable-trust specialists.
Tax counsel prepared notifications because HYSF’s tax-exempt status could be implicated by private benefit or self-dealing concerns depending on facts.
An independent appraisal was commissioned.
Banks received preservation letters.
Auditors traced transfers.
Hannah watched adults create folders while Grant prepared to transfer waterfront property in six days.
“This is insane.”
David looked up from breakfast.
“What is?”
“Everyone knows what he’s doing.”
“Everyone suspects.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
She dropped her spoon.
“Dad.”
“You are becoming impatient.”
“Because he’s winning.”
“Temporary power is not the same as winning.”
“That sounds like something billionaires say when they can afford patience.”
David went silent.
Hannah immediately regretted it.
He looked at her.
“That was cheap.”
“I know.”
“You think my money means consequences do not scare me?”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
She stared at the table.
David’s voice softened.
“I am afraid for the foundation’s credibility. I am afraid Grant will successfully characterize this as revenge. I am afraid you are turning this into something you need to personally defeat.”
Hannah looked up.
“Maybe I do.”
“That worries me.”
“Why?”
“Because I recognize it.”
He left for a legal meeting.
Hannah sat alone.
Then Noah arrived.
He had been suspended from Harbor Crest’s junior team pending “conduct review” because he had allegedly harassed members and shared confidential project records.
“What did your dad say?” Hannah asked.
“That Grant is a parasite.”
“Fair.”
“And that I’m still not allowed to break rules because Grant is worse.”
Hannah frowned.
“Also fair.”
Noah pulled out copies of public property filings.
“Hart Waterfront Holdings borrowed twenty million dollars last year.”
“For what?”
“Planning and acquisition.”
“So?”
“The loan maturity is next month.”
Hannah looked at him.
“Grant needs the Harbor Crest deal.”
“If the ground lease closes, Hart Waterfront gets a valuable long-term asset. That could help refinance.”
Now the urgency made sense.
Grant did not simply want the parcel.
He needed it.
His private company faced a deadline.
“If he loses the deal?”
“Could be ugly.”
“Bankruptcy?”
“Maybe not. But pressure.”
Hannah’s phone buzzed.
Celia Park.
I remembered where old HYSF vendor files were stored before digital migration.
Hannah called immediately.
Celia explained.
A records office beside the regatta committee room held archived binders.
“Would Grant have moved them?” Hannah asked.
“Probably.”
“Probably isn’t definitely.”
Noah saw her expression.
“No.”
“What?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“You look exactly like your father when you’re about to do something controlling.”
“Rude.”
Celia added, “Hannah, let lawyers request them.”
“I know.”
After the call, Hannah stood.
Noah stared.
“You’re going.”
“I just want to see whether the files exist.”
“That is called going.”
“The office might be open.”
“And if it isn’t?”
Hannah did not answer.
Noah groaned.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Yes.”
“So why are we still discussing it?”
“Because you’re coming?”
“No.”
She smiled.
Two hours later, Noah was driving.
The yacht club was preparing for Founders Night.
Workers moved flowers and tables through service halls.
Hannah wore a baseball cap and her mother’s denim jacket.
“This is exactly how criminals dress in bad movies,” Noah said.
“We’re not committing a crime.”
“Excellent opening argument.”
Celia had given them the archive-room location but no key.
When they reached the corridor, the door was ajar.
Hannah stopped.
“See?”
Noah whispered, “That somehow makes me more nervous.”
They entered.
Shelves covered every wall.
Old HYSF boxes.
Regatta binders.
Vendor files.
Hannah photographed box labels.
She did not remove anything.
Then Noah opened a binder.
“North Light.”
Inside were invoices.
Many matched audited copies.
One did not.
A handwritten approval sheet showed Grant authorizing payment to North Light before its vendor contract had even been signed.
Hannah photographed it.
Then she saw another binder.
EAST WATERFRONT APPRAISALS.
Inside were two valuations.
One: $4.8 million.
The number presented to the board.
Another, dated only three weeks earlier:
$10.9 million.
Same appraisal firm.
Different assumptions.
Hannah’s pulse raced.
“Photograph everything.”
Noah already was.
Then the door slammed.
Grant Hart stood in the hallway.
Alan Pierce beside him.
Grant’s face was almost calm.
“Well.”
Hannah’s stomach dropped.
Grant looked at their phones.
Then at the open records.
“I was wondering how desperate David Morgan’s daughter would become.”
Noah stepped forward.
“The door was open.”
Grant smiled.
“Good.”
Hannah frowned.
“What?”
Grant raised his own phone.
It was recording.
“Because now everyone gets to watch the billionaire’s daughter break into a private records office.”
Hannah looked at the open door.
At the strategically unattended room.
May you like
At Grant.
And realized too late that for once, she had walked directly into someone else’s trap.
