Page 41 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

" W here did you leave it, Dad?" she murmured into the empty room, as if he might hear her or send down some kind of sign.

She had already searched her old room—nothing.

The place had been cleared out shortly after she was put into witness protection.

It felt strange to be back in there, surrounded by the absence of everything she once knew.

Memories of her father helping with homework, of him reading bedtime stories when she was younger, surged through her, painful and sweet.

Standing outside his bedroom door, she hesitated, trying to gather the courage to step inside.

Her breath hitched as she stepped across the threshold, the familiar smell of old wood and dust filling the air. The room, once filled with her father’s presence, was now empty, stripped bare. Nothing remained. She stood in the center, feeling the weight of the emptiness pressing in on her chest.

Tears blurred her vision as she scanned the room, her hand trembling as it brushed across the bare walls.

“Where are you?” she whispered hoarsely, as though he might answer, as though he might be hiding somewhere.

The dresser was gone, the bed, too. Every corner, every inch of the room felt like a cruel mockery of what it used to be.

She stumbled forward, her legs weak, her heart heavy.

The room felt suffocating, the silence deafening.

Her father’s presence was gone, but the memories crashed over her in waves—his laugh, his reassuring voice, the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

They were all gone, erased, just like everything else in this house.

She couldn’t take it. She had to leave.

But as she turned toward the door, a sudden thought stopped her in her tracks. Her chest tightened as the memory hit her. My closet. The hidden panic room entrance in her old room—the one with the pass-through that led directly to Dad’s office.

Her heart skipped a beat. The notebook. Her father’s notebook.

A wave of urgency hit her, pushing her forward. Why didn’t I think of looking there first?

She turned and bolted back toward the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the house like a desperate call.

She rushed into her old room, her hands shaking as she fumbled at the closet door.

The hidden passage was still there, just like she remembered.

She pried open the hidden panel, her breath shallow, the sound of the house creaking under her frantic movements.

The tight, dark space behind the closet felt like a refuge, a place where her father had hidden the one thing she needed to find.

She reached up, her fingers brushing against the ceiling, and there it was.

A red leather-bound notebook sitting in the rafters, hidden in plain sight.

That was truly smart, Dad.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she carefully grabbed it and nearly dropped it because her hands were slick with sweat. She opened it, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. A rush of emotion flooded her chest, and she couldn’t help the sob that escaped.

The notebook. Her father’s legacy.

The next morning, after a restless night and a scalding hot shower that did little to wash away the weight pressing down on her, Victoria sat at her table.

Her damp hair clung to her skin, the faint scent of soap lingering, but she barely noticed.

In front of her sat three things: the red leather notebook, the folder from Adams, and her father’s letter.

She exhaled sharply, reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring a generous glass. The deep red liquid swirled as she lifted it to her lips, taking a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest. But her eyes never left the objects in front of her.

The past. The present. The truth.

It was all sitting right there, staring back at her, daring her to open it.

Her fingers twitched against the rim of her glass. Where the hell do I even start?

Clawdia, unbothered by the weight suffocating the room, sprawled lazily in the chair next to her, tail flicking idly. Every now and then, the cat stretched, barely cracking an eye open before resettling, completely indifferent to the storm brewing inside Victoria’s mind.

Must be nice to be so damn oblivious.

She let out a bitter breath, rubbing a hand over her face. What if I don’t want to know? What if what’s in these pages changes everything?

But deep down, she already knew it would. It had to. And there was no going back now.

Her gaze dropped back to the notebook, the folder, the letter. The answers were right there.

She just had to be brave enough to face them.

Victoria downed half her glass of wine in one long gulp, the burn doing nothing to steady the tremor in her hands. Now or never.

She reached for the notebook, fingers hesitating on the worn leather cover before flipping it open. This was the missing piece, the unknown variable in the tangled mess of secrets and lies.

Her breath caught as she scanned the first few pages. This is everything. The ledger wasn’t just notes, it was a carefully organized record of every payment made to other families, every deal struck, every operation funded.

Each entry was meticulously labeled, a name or organization scrawled in the top corner, followed by a list of what they were going into business for. Weapons. Drugs. Trafficking. Pages and pages of it, laid out in brutal, damning detail.

She kept flipping, her pulse pounding with each turn. Fifty, maybe sixty contracts. Proof of just how deep the corruption ran. Then she turned another page. And froze.

Her father’s name.

The contract for Victor Grace.

Her stomach lurched as she read through the formal language, bile rising in her throat. It outlined his role within the Locke Empire. His duties, his access to financial records, his loyalty clause. A carefully constructed document that ensured his silence.

But it was the clause beneath it that stole the air from her lungs.

A guardianship contingency.

Her breath hitched as her eyes traced the precise, calculated wording.

In the event that Victor Grace violates the terms of this agreement or acts in opposition to the interests of the Locke Empire, full legal guardianship of his minor child, Victoria Grace, will be transferred to Cassian Locke, with all parental rights null and void.

No other claims to guardianship shall be recognized.

The words blurred as she read them again. And again.

It wasn’t just a death sentence for her father. It was a claim on her life.

At fifteen, she would have legally belonged to Cassian. And when her father first signed this contract, she had been only ten.

A sharp, choking noise tore from her throat as she forced herself to look at the bottom of the page. There it was.

Victor Grace’s signature.

Victoria sat motionless, staring at the contract, the words blurring together no matter how many times she read them.

Her father’s signature at the bottom felt like a punch to the gut. He signed it.

Of course he signed it. He had to. There was no way out of a deal with Cassian Locke, not without blood. But knowing that didn’t take the sting away. It didn’t erase the betrayal coiled tight in her chest.

Her hand trembled as she traced the ink, as if touching it would somehow make sense of it all. Did he truly think he could outmaneuver Cassian?

Her mind raced, trying to piece it together. Her father had always been careful and very meticulous. He wouldn’t have signed something like this without a plan. What was the plan?

Was this why he kept the ledger? A failsafe? A way to take down the Empire from the inside before Cassian could turn on him? Or was he already feeding intel to someone? Who was he working with?

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, sharp and humorless. And how did Cassian find out?

That question clawed at her the most. Because Cassian had found out. And the moment he did, her father was as good as dead.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. Was it a mistake? A leak? Did someone sell him out?

She sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes still locked on the contract.

It didn’t matter how careful he had been. It didn’t matter how much evidence he had collected.

Cassian won.

Her father was dead.

And if she wasn’t careful, she’d be next.