I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father-Chapter 293: The Vehicle

ARGGHH!!!!

Honey’s scream tore through the room, raw and unrestrained. She swept her arm across the desk in a violent arc, sending a stack of papers fluttering to the floor like a stack of dominoes. The sound of shattering glass followed as a crystal tumbler hit the wall and exploded, whiskey bleeding down the wallpaper in amber streaks.

Her chest heaved as she stood there, fists clenched, nails biting into her palms.

Days.

It had been days since the failed attempt to take Lyse.

The plan had been flawless, or so she had thought. Quick. Clean. Get the girl, squeeze her just enough to scare the truth out of Brandon, and vanish before anyone realized what had happened. Levi’s timing had been infuriatingly precise, as if fate itself had leaned over and whispered a warning in his ear.

If he hadn’t shown up at that exact moment...

Honey’s jaw tightened. She would have been gone by now. Halfway to safety. One step closer to solving the mess Brett had left behind.

Now she was stuck. Spinning her wheels. Bleeding time.

And time was the one thing she no longer had.

The debtors were circling like sharks, patient but relentless. Each passing hour made their interest sharper, their mercy thinner. They didn’t care about excuses or unfinished business. They cared about money. Brett’s money.

If she didn’t get her hands on it soon, she was finished.

Done.

She hadn’t clawed her way up from nothing, hadn’t lied, cheated, seduced, and survived just to end up as fish food at the bottom of some cold, forgotten lake. She had seen what happened to people who failed to pay. Broken bodies. Disappearances. Names erased as if they had never existed.

Honey dragged a hand through her hair and began pacing the room, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor.

"Think, Honey, think!" she snapped at herself, voice echoing faintly off the walls. "You’ve been in worse jams than this."

And she had.

She remembered nights spent sleeping with a knife under her pillow. Deals struck in dark corners. Men who had underestimated her intelligence, her resolve, her cruelty when cornered. Every time, she had found a way out.

She would find one now.

She stopped by the window, staring out at the city lights, glittering and indifferent. Somewhere out there was the answer she needed. Brett had never been careless. Paranoid, yes. Secretive. Obsessive about contingencies.

Which meant the money existed.

She just hadn’t found it yet.

Honey turned back to the desk, eyes scanning the chaos spread across its surface. Brett’s financial records were stacked neatly on one side, Brandon’s information on the other. Journals filled with coded entries lay open, their margins crowded with scribbled notes and dates that refused to make sense.

She had gone through everything.

Accounts. Shell companies. Offshore trusts. Cash withdrawals that led nowhere. Brett had been meticulous in covering his tracks, leaving behind enough breadcrumbs to look promising but never enough to lead anywhere real. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Brandon had been just as useless. Clean records. Carefully curated. Whatever he knew, he hadn’t written it down, or he had hidden it better than she ever expected.

Honey sank into her chair, exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. Her head throbbed, the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind her eyes.

Knock. Knock.

She closed her eyes briefly. "Come in," she called, her voice tired but controlled.

The door opened quietly, and Sergei stepped inside. He moved with his usual efficiency, silent as a shadow. In his hands was a tray, steam curling upward from the teapot. He set it down carefully on the table before reaching under his arm and pulling out a roll of papers.

"I brought more tea, miss," he said evenly. "I also obtained police reports that may have some connection to Mr. Brett."

Honey barely looked up. "Thank you, Sergei."

He hesitated, then gestured to the teapot. "May I pour you some tea?"

"Yes, please," Honey sighed, rubbing her temples.

Sergei poured the tea with steady hands, the faint clink of porcelain the only sound in the room. She watched absently as the amber liquid filled the cup. The moment he was done, she reached for the whiskey bottle on her desk and added a generous splash, followed by a thick stream of honey.

She took a sip, the burn grounding her slightly.

"Have you found anything on the security tapes?" she asked without looking at him.

"Not yet, ma’am," Sergei replied. "Most of the footage from that night is either missing or corrupted. Whoever did it knew exactly where to look."

Of course they did, Honey thought darkly. Brett wouldn’t have trusted amateurs.

She waved him away with a flick of her fingers. "You may go."

Sergei inclined his head and left without another word, closing the door softly behind him.

Honey turned back to the documents, forcing herself to focus. Page after page slid beneath her fingers, numbers blurring together. She slowed, scanning more carefully now, her instincts prickling.

Then she saw it.

An impounded vehicle report.

Her eyes skimmed the page at first, dismissive until a detail caught her attention. Her breath hitched. She leaned forward sharply, heart rate spiking as she reread the line.

The vehicle had been impounded after Brett’s death.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Honey’s lips curved slowly, the first genuine smile she had managed in days. She reached for the intercom button on her desk and pressed it.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Sergei returned, posture attentive.

"Did you call for me, ma’am?" he asked.

Honey held up the paper between two fingers. "I want you to take this."

She handed it to him, watching his eyes flick over the contents with professional speed.

"Hack into whatever system you need to," she continued coolly. "Traffic cameras. Private feeds. Anything off the books."

Sergei nodded once. "Understood."

"I want a picture of this car being driven after Brett’s death," Honey said, her voice hardening. "I don’t care how grainy it is. I don’t care how long it takes."

She leaned back in her chair, eyes sharp, predatory.

"I want to see who drove that car."