The federal interest in Holloway Heritage wasn’t immediate, but Marcus was shrewd. He sensed the shifting tides. He preempted any official investigation with a classic move: attacking the dead.
I was in my small apartment, trying to piece together a dinner for Maya and me, when the local news channel flashed a breaking story.
“Holloway Heritage Corp under scrutiny: Allegations surface against late executive.”
My hand froze on the microwave button.
The anchor, her voice somber, reported, “Sources close to Holloway Heritage & Asset Management Corp suggest that federal authorities are examining financial irregularities within the foundation. In a statement released this afternoon, Vice President Marcus Holloway claims that the late David Gaines, former head of R&D, may have embezzled as much as $3 million from the foundation prior to his untimely death.”
My blood ran cold. The spoon clattered from my hand.
“Holloway’s statement alleges that Mr. Gaines forged Mr. Holloway’s signature on corporate checks and funneled funds into offshore accounts, painting a picture of internal betrayal and widespread fraud orchestrated by the deceased.”
Maya rushed in from her room, drawn by the sudden silence and the news report. Her eyes widened, horrified, as she saw the accusations scroll across the screen.
“No,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “No, David would never.”
The screen showed a grainy photograph of David, smiling. Below it, the words: “Accused of $3 Million Embezzlement.”
Marcus was using David’s memory as a shield, attempting to discredit him, and by extension, me. If David was a criminal, then my claims of Marcus’s wrongdoing would seem like a desperate attempt to defend a guilty man.
The phone rang incessantly, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. It was Marcus, undoubtedly, or reporters.
“They’re framing Dad,” Maya said, her voice shaking. She looked at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “This is what he meant by ‘destroying everything’ if you married Albert.”
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight. The pain was immense, not just for the accusations against David, but for the brutal way Marcus was ripping apart any peace we had.
The news report continued, dissecting the alleged scheme, painting David as a villain. It spoke of him being under investigation at the time of his death, of his heart attack being a convenient escape from justice.
I sank onto the couch, the weight of the injustice suffocating me. Marcus was a master manipulator, twisting narratives, making the dead speak his lies.
It was a pre-emptive strike, designed to contaminate any future investigation against him.
It was cruel. It was heartless. And it was working.
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