Jonas nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “Clara… it looks like he’s tied to all of this. Money trails, properties hidden in trust funds, reinforced estate buildings no one was supposed toknow about.” He hesitated, then added, softer still, “He’s deeper in it than you realised.”
Her stomach turned, but the way he said it, the steady hand on her back, the quiet certainty, kept her from breaking. She leaned against him, trembling, her mind grasping for purchase against the sudden freefall.
A big part of her wanted to deny it, to refute any claims her father was mixed up in anything nefarious, but she couldn’t, because deep down, she wasn’t shocked. Too many times as a child, strange men had turned up at their home late at night, closeted behind the door of her father’s office. Her mother’s tears and his bad moods were followed by smiles and joy as if everything was fine. The patina of a family that didn’t exist.
Jonas kissed her temple once, a silent promise. “We’ll face it together.”
And for the first time since Oliver had appeared like a storm in her life, Clara believed it.
Her father’s name on Jonas’s lips was a weight she could barely carry. It settled in her chest like a stone, dragging her breath shallow.
She pulled back enough to look at the screens, though part of her wanted to close her eyes and pretend none of it was real. Rows of accounts, offshore transfers, and a blueprint of a building she didn’t recognise.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, shaking her head. “What does my father have to do with any of this? He’s… he’s a businessman. Stubborn, controlling, old-fashioned, but not this. Not this.”
Jonas’s hand covered hers, grounding her. His thumb pressed circles into her knuckles. “Look.” He pointed to the transfers, moving with the same meticulous care he always had when he explained his work. “Large sums moved through shell companies, always circling back to trusts connected to yourfamily estate. Money doesn’t move like this unless someone is hiding something.”
She stared at the screen until the numbers blurred. “That doesn’t prove anything. He could be investing. He could…” Her throat closed, the words tasting like ash. “He could be protecting us.”
Jonas’s jaw ticked, but he stayed calm. Patient. “Maybe. But then there’s this.” He tapped another file, and the blueprint filled the screen again. “An unregistered property. Reinforced basement, security systems that rival government buildings. Hidden in the countryside under a trust in your father’s name. Not a farmhouse. Not a retreat. Something else.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. She gripped the edge of the desk. “I’ve never seen that house before.”
“I didn’t think you had.” Jonas’s eyes searched hers, soft but unyielding. “But Oliver knows about it. I found comms between him and someone listed only as ‘Sutton.’ And I’m fairly certain that’s your father.”
Clara’s stomach lurched, bile rising. Papa? The man who’d taught her how to ride a bike, who polished his cufflinks every Sunday before church, who always cared more about appearances than her happiness. Could he really?
“I don’t believe this.” Her voice cracked. “I can’t.”
Jonas didn’t flinch. He simply said, “I wish you didn’t have to.”
The door opened before she could respond. Duchess slipped in, hair tied up messily, clearly pulled from sleep. A second later, Bishop followed, yawning and muttering about coffee. One by one, the rest arrived, Valentina with her dogs at her heels, Titan, Lotus, sharp-eyed despite her Winnie the Pooh pyjama bottoms, Reaper already smirking, and Hurricane ducking his head beneath the doorframe as he held it for Snow and Bein to walk through.
Bás entered last, a storm in human form, eyes grim. He clapped his hands once. “Alright. Everyone’s here. Let’s get to it.”
Clara sat straighter on Jonas’s lap, his arm steady around her waist as if daring anyone to question it. No one did.
Bás stood at the head of the room, scanning their faces. “Oliver’s not working alone. Watchdog and I dug deep, and it all leads back to the Sutton family. Clara’s father in particular. Hidden estates, financial trails, links to Hansen’s old network. This isn’t about one man trying to marry his way into society. It’s about infrastructure. Power. Money. A network that didn’t die when Hansen did, it adapted.”
The room stilled, the weight of his words hanging heavy.
Lotus leaned forward, eyes sharp. “You’re saying her father is funding them?”
“Or worse,” Jonas said quietly, his voice a low thread. “He could be running it.”
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by Monty’s soft whine as Valentina laid a calming hand on his head.
Clara’s heart pounded, each beat screaming denial even as the evidence glowed on the screens. She felt Jonas’s hand squeeze hers once more, anchoring her, reminding her she wasn’t alone, even if her world was crumbling.
Jonas angled the screen toward her, his arm solid around her waist. Rows of scanned deeds and contracts filled the monitor. Each bore a signature that looked painfully familiar.
Her own.
Her pulse spiked. “That’s…” She swallowed, leaning closer as if distance might make it clearer. “That’s my name.”
Jonas nodded once, his expression grim. “Property deeds. Accounts. Trusts. All tied to you. Some of them date back years.”
“No.” She shook her head, her stomach twisting. “I’ve never seen these before. I never signed them.”
