Chapter 8
Pearl Holdings was fake.
Not even good fake.
A shell formed in Delaware, owned by another shell, tied to a bank account in the Caymans.
Julian’s finance team had missed it.
Or ignored it.
I stayed late tracing payments until my eyes burned.
At eleven, Julian appeared in my doorway with coffee.
“You should go home.”
“You should hire accountants who are not decorative.”
He handed me the cup.
“I did.”
“They missed Pearl Holdings.”
His face changed.
“Show me.”
I did.
Employee hardship grants had been diverted for eighteen months.
Medical reimbursements.
Emergency housing funds.
Scholarships for workers’ children.
Money meant for people like me.
I felt sick.
“Who approves these?” I asked.
“Celeste chairs the family foundation.”
“Of course she does.”
Julian leaned over the desk.
His sleeve brushed mine.
I ignored the warmth.
Mostly.
“There’s more,” I said.
“What?”
“Some applications were marked denied even after funds were released.”
“So the employees never knew money existed.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“How many?”
“At least forty-two.”
For the first time, Julian looked less like a billionaire and more like a man standing in the ruins of his own blindness.
“I tested housekeepers while my family robbed them.”
I did not soften it.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Find everything.”
“I will.”
“And Abby?”
I looked up.
“No more tests.”
I held his gaze.
“Good.”
By morning, my apartment ceiling was repaired.
Dad’s rehab extension was paid as salary advance.
Mateo’s tuition cleared.
Julian sent proof, not praise.
That mattered.
Still, when flowers arrived with a card saying From Pearl, I knew they were not from him.
May you like
Inside the bouquet was a note.
Stop digging, little maid.
