The Day the Diamond Tycoon Faked Blindness to Catch His Gold-Digging Fiancée Red-Handed — Part 3 of 3

The Partner in the Shadows

The next morning, Alistair sat in his study, the letter spread before him, his magnifying glass tracing the faded ink. Hannah sat beside him, a cup of cocoa warming her small hands. The police had called an hour ago—Amber was in custody, but she was refusing to talk, demanding a lawyer, screaming about entrapment.

"She's scared," Alistair said, more to himself than to Hannah. "She knows she's caught, but she's protecting someone."

Hannah looked at the letter. "Grandpa, what if the partner is someone we know?"

Alistair frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Hannah said slowly, "Amber was always around. She was at the manor all the time. She had access to everything. What if the partner was… a staff member?"

Alistair's eyes widened. He thought of his butler, James, who had been with him for twenty years. He thought of his housekeeper, Mrs. O'Leary, who had known him since he was a young man. He thought of his lawyer, Mr. Whitfield, who had handled the estate for decades.

But then his gaze fell on the letter's postscript—a line he'd initially dismissed. It read: "The partner is someone who knows the manor's secrets. Someone who has been in the family for years. But not a servant."

"Not a servant," Alistair muttered. "Then who?"

Hannah's eyes lit up. "Wait. What if it's someone who wants the inheritance for themselves? Someone who's related to Amber?"

Alistair's heart lurched. "Amber has a brother," he said. "A brother she never introduced to me. She said he was estranged, living abroad. But what if that was a lie?"

He grabbed his phone and dialed his private investigator. "Find everything you can on Amber's family," he ordered. "Specifically, a brother."

Twenty minutes later, the investigator called back. "There is no brother, Mr. Grant. Amber was an only child. But there is a cousin—a man named Marcus Reed. He's a known con artist, with a record for fraud. He's been seen in the area recently."

Alistair's blood ran cold. "Marcus Reed," he repeated. "Where is he now?"

"That's the thing, sir," the investigator said. "He was spotted at the airport last night, boarding a flight to Zurich. He's heading to the Swiss bank."

The Race to the Vault

Alistair hung up, his mind racing. "He's going to the bank," he told Hannah. "He knows about the trust fund. He's going to try to access it before we can."

"But we have the letter," Hannah said. "We have proof of who we are."

"It's not enough," Alistair said. "The bank requires a physical presence and a DNA test to prove lineage. If Marcus gets there first, he might convince them he's the heir—he could forge documents, bribe someone."

Hannah stood, her small fists clenched. "Then we have to go there. Now."

Alistair looked at her, a fierce pride swelling in his chest. "You're right," he said. "Let's go."

They flew to Zurich in Alistair's private jet, the hours stretching like days. Hannah held the letter tightly, her eyes fixed on the window, watching the clouds below. Alistair's mind was a storm of worry and hope.

When they landed, a black sedan was waiting. They drove straight to the bank, a grand building with marble pillars and brass doors that seemed to whisper of secrets. Inside, the air was cool and hushed, the floors gleaming underfoot.

"We're here to access the Grant trust fund," Alistair told the bank manager, a thin man with rimless glasses. "I am Alistair Grant, and this is my granddaughter, Hannah Grant."

The manager's eyebrows rose. "We were just about to process a similar request," he said. "A Mr. Marcus Reed arrived an hour ago. He claims to be the grandson of Sarah Grant."

Alistair's jaw tightened. "He's lying. I have the letter—Sarah's letter. And I have proof of my lineage."

The manager hesitated. "We'll need to run a DNA test. Standard procedure."