Chapter 2 - The Signature That Wasn’t Mine
Rebecca answered on the fourth ring.
“Jonathan?”
Her voice was shaking.
“Where is Christina?”
Silence.
“Rebecca.”
“She’s with me.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“What happened?”
“I can’t explain everything over the phone.”
“Was Florence at Christina’s apartment?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did she hurt her?”
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
“She hit her and Christina fell against the coffee table. She has a concussion. The doctor wanted her observed overnight.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Christina begged us not to.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought Florence would run if she knew you’d found out.”
I looked through the glass wall toward the ballroom.
Florence stood twenty feet away, smiling for photographs.
Rebecca lowered her voice.
“Jonathan, Christina wanted you to get the USB before Florence knew anything was wrong.”
“She sent Leo?”
“I brought him to the hotel. Christina insisted.”
I felt anger rise.
“He’s three years old.”
“I know.”
“She put a three-year-old in the middle of this?”
“She trusted one person Florence would never suspect.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“What exactly did Christina discover?”
“Enough to know your marriage could trigger something financially.”
“I saw the documents.”
“Then you understand why she was scared.”
“Not completely.”
“You need to call your attorney.”
“I will.”
“Not the company’s general counsel.”
That stopped me.
“Why?”
“Christina believes someone inside Prescott Development helped Florence.”
I looked again at the ballroom.
My chief financial officer, Martin Keller, was speaking with two board members near the entrance.
Martin had worked for me for fourteen years.
He had attended Elizabeth’s funeral.
He had held Christina’s newborn son.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
I ended the call and immediately contacted Evelyn Shaw.
Evelyn was seventy-one, sharp as broken glass, and had been my personal attorney for more than twenty-five years.
She answered immediately.
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting married?”
“Not anymore.”
That got her attention.
I described the forged documents.
“Photograph them and send them to me.”
I did.
Three minutes later, she called back.
“Jonathan, do not sign anything today.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not announce anything yet either.”
“Why?”
“Because one of these documents references a marital transfer clause from your existing family trust.”
My stomach sank.
“What does that mean?”
“It means whoever drafted this had access to confidential estate-planning information.”
“How confidential?”
“Very.”
“Could Florence have found it in my house?”
“Not the language I’m looking at.”
“So someone gave it to her.”
“Yes.”
I thought of Martin.
But suspicion wasn’t proof.
“What would these documents do?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“If properly executed and filed, they could make Florence co-controller of several holding entities after your marriage.”
“For how long?”
“Potentially permanently.”
“And if I died?”
“She would have extraordinary leverage over Christina’s inheritance.”
I stared at Florence.
The woman was posing beside a wall of white roses.
My wife-to-be.
My almost-widow.
“Jonathan?”
“I’m here.”
“There’s more.”
“Tell me.”
“The signature isn’t the only forgery.”
“What else?”
“The notarization.”
I enlarged the page.
A seal appeared beside my signature.
Evelyn continued.
“That notary hasn’t worked with my firm in six years.”
“So the entire thing is fabricated.”
“Possibly. But whoever did it understood exactly how your holdings are structured.”
I looked at my watch.
The ceremony was supposed to begin in seven minutes.
“What should I do?”
“Keep her there.”
I almost laughed.
“You want me to continue the wedding?”
“I want you to keep her from realizing you know.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough for me to get there.”
The ballroom doors opened.
My wedding coordinator approached.
“Mr. Prescott, we’re ready.”
Florence smiled at me from across the hallway.
I smiled back.
“Give us five minutes.”
The coordinator disappeared.
I returned to the laptop.
There was still one folder I had not examined completely.
AUDIO.
I opened the first recording.
Florence’s voice.
Then a man’s.
I recognized him instantly.
Martin Keller.
My CFO.
“Once the marriage certificate is filed,” Martin said, “the amendment can be presented.”
Florence answered, “And Jonathan?”
“He won’t notice immediately.”
“He notices everything.”
“Not anymore.”
I stopped breathing.
Martin continued.
“You’ve spent two years making him trust you. Don’t panic now.”
“And Christina?”
“She’s a problem.”
“I can handle Christina.”
“Don’t underestimate her.”
Florence laughed softly.
“You underestimated me once too.”
The recording ended.
I sat completely still.
Martin.
Fourteen years.
I remembered his first interview.
His promotion.
His wife’s funeral.
The Christmas bonuses I personally approved when his daughter needed surgery.
Betrayal has a strange physical sensation.
People describe anger as heat.
Mine felt cold.
Leo tugged my sleeve.
“Grandpa?”
I looked down.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Is Mommy okay?”
I picked him up.
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
That was when I understood what mattered.
Not the company.
Not the money.
Not my pride.
My family.
Christina had been trying to protect me while I had been accusing her of jealousy.
I had let Florence create distance between us.
That part belonged to me.
And I intended to repair it.
But first, I needed to know how far the conspiracy went.
I called hotel security.
Then I called a detective I knew through the Prescott Foundation.
I explained enough to make him listen.
Finally, I sent the USB files to Evelyn.
When I stepped back into the hallway, Martin approached me.
“There you are.”
He smiled.
“Cold feet?”
I studied him.
For fourteen years, I had believed I knew this man.
“Something like that.”
He laughed.
“Florence is nervous.”
“I’m sure she is.”
His smile faltered.
“Everything okay?”
“Perfect.”
I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Actually, Martin, I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Stay close after the ceremony.”
“Why?”
“There are some documents I need you to look at.”
His face barely changed.
Barely.
But it was enough.
“What documents?”
“I’ll explain later.”
I walked away.
Behind me, Martin immediately took out his phone.
Exactly what I hoped he would do.
I entered the ballroom.
More than a hundred people stood.
Music began.
Florence appeared at the far end of the aisle.
She looked breathtaking.
For a moment, grief hit me harder than anger.
Because despite everything I had discovered, some part of me still remembered the woman I thought she was.
The dinners.
The laughter.
The quiet evenings.
Her hand in mine after surgery.
Had all of it been fake?
Florence began walking toward me.
Slowly.
Gracefully.
Smiling.
The guests watched a bride approaching her groom.
I watched a stranger approaching a trap.
When Florence reached me, she took my hands.
“You look pale,” she whispered.
“Long day.”
“Almost over.”
“No,” I said softly.
Her eyes searched mine.
“It’s just beginning.”
The officiant welcomed everyone.
I barely heard him.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Evelyn.
I’m downstairs. Police are with me. Do not let Florence leave.
Then another message appeared.
From Christina.
Only five words.
Dad, check the final folder.
I looked at the USB drive in my pocket.
There had been no final folder.
At least none I remembered seeing.
Then Christina sent a second message.
It’s hidden. Password: ELIZABETH.
May you like
My dead wife’s name.
And whatever Christina had hidden behind that password was apparently more dangerous than everything I had already discovered.
