Three days after the divorce papers were delivered, I showed up at one of the Delorme family's port projects.
It was a trap my father had laid.
The Delorme family had recently been negotiating a harbor acquisition deal.
And the harbor happened to be an asset of Blackwell Logistics.
My father arranged for my team to join the project as third-party financial consultants and audit the accounts.
I was in work pants and a hard hat, clipboard in hand.
I reviewed the records in the dusty container yard.
To be honest, it felt good.
After three years, I finally didn't have to pretend to be stupid anymore.
"The customs declaration form for this shipment is inaccurate," I said to the project manager beside me. "The declared quantity doesn't match the actual count in inventory. Short 37 conta
