The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 176

Chapter 176

Aria’s POV

076

I slapped the forged loan document onto the marble counter between us.

Victoria’s expression flickered momentarily before settling into practiced innocence. She barely glanced at the paper. “Explain what, dear? Some random

document you’ve fabricated?”

“This isn’t fabricated. This is a loan agreement for two million dollars–with three million dollars in supposed interest–using my mother’s signature and the Hamptons beach house as collateral.” I tapped the paper with my index finger. “Except my mother was already hospitalized when this was supposedly

signed.”

My father entered the kitchen, his face hardening when he saw us. “What’s going on here?”

“Your daughter is making wild accusations again,” Victoria said smoothly, placing a hand on his arm. “Something about forged documents.”

I turned to my father. “Dad, look at this. Someone used Mom’s name to borrow money, and they used her beach house–my beach house–as collateral.” I pushed the document toward him. “The same men who vandalized my beach house showed up at my office yesterday, destroying everything. They claim I

owe them money.”

My father barely looked at the document before pushing it back toward me. “Aria, these desperate attempts to blame Victoria for your business failures are

becoming pathetic.”

*Business failures?” I felt my chest tighten with anger. “My office was deliberately vandalized, and I lost a three–million–dollar contract because of it. This

isn’t coincidence.”

Victoria’s perfectly manicured hand reached for my arm. “Perhaps if you’d joined the family business instead of insisting on your little marketing venture-*

I jerked away from her touch. “Don’t. You think I don’t see what’s happening? You forged this document, used my mother’s property as collateral, and now you’re trying to force me out when the debt collectors come calling.”

My father’s face darkened. “That’s enough!” He stepped toward me, hand raised.

I flinched and stepped back, knocking into the side table. The delicate Tiffany vase toppled and shattered across the Italian marble floor.

The room fell silent. I stared at the scattered crystal shards, my mother’s favorite flowers now lying among broken glass. Something inside me hardened in

that moment.

‘I’m done,” I said, my voice suddenly calm. “Victoria, fix this mess with the loan sharks, or I go to the police with evidence of forgery and fraud. Your

choice.”

I turned and walked out, pausing only to glance back at Victoria. For the first time, I saw genuine fear flicker across her perfect features.

My phone rang as the Uber pulled away from the Harper mansion. Unknown number.

“Ms. Harper?” A gruff male voice. “Regarding the outstanding debt of three million dollars—”

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Chapter 176

‘Let me stop you right there,” I said, surprising myself with my steady voice. “I know exactly who you are and who sent you. I also know I don’t owe you a

penny.”

‘Ma’am, our records clearly show-

Your records show a forged document using a dead woman’s signature. Do you know what the FBI calls that? Wire fraud. Mail fraud. Identity theft.” I paused. ‘Oh, and destroying my office? That’s criminal vandalism and racketeering.”

A brief silence. “This seems to be a misunderstanding-

“A misunderstanding that cost me a three–million–dollar contract with Bergmann Industries this morning. I continued, my confidence growing. “I’m sure

your employers wouldn’t want this… misunderstanding… becoming public. Especially if certain financial journalists started asking questions about Vegas-

based debt collection agencies and their tactics.”

“Ms. Harper-

I expect personal apologies and full restitution for damages to my office by tomorrow noon,” I said firmly. “Otherwise, my next call is to the FBI’s white-

collar crime division. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, ma’am. This was clearly a… system error. We’ll be in touch tomorrow to resolve this issue.”

I ended the call and leaned back against the leather seat, my hands shaking now that the conversation was over. The adrenaline crash left me feeling hollow and vulnerable. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been gripping my phone until I felt the ache in my fingers.

‘Change of destination,” I told the driver. “My apartment first, then Manhattan. Central Park West.”

At my apartment, I moved on autopilot, pulling ingredients from my cabinets. The methodical measuring, mixing, and shaping of chocolate chunk cookies

gave my trembling hands purpose. It was ridiculous, really–making homemade cookies as a thank–you for a billionaire who probably had personal chefs. But

I needed the ritual, needed to feel I was bringing something genuine of myself.

Forty minutes later, with the warm cookies carefully packed in a small paper bag, I headed back to the waiting Uber.

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