Chapter 11 - The Forged Signature
The signature looked real. The sharp V, the long downstroke on the M, even the careless slash Vincent used instead of a proper t. Grace wanted it to be fake so badly that she distrusted herself.
“Who had access to your signature?” she asked.
“My father. His lawyer. Anyone who processed company contracts.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes,” Vincent said. “It is.”
She spent the night in Nora's spare room instead of returning to the mansion. Nora made tea and didn't ask questions. In the morning, Vincent sent a forensic examiner's preliminary report: the ink on the document was newer than the paper. Someone had printed a fake transfer order on an authentic old form.
Grace didn't call him to apologize. She called to ask who could obtain forms from that year.
“Salvatore's attorney,” he answered. “Harold Whitmore.”
“Vanessa's father?”
“Her uncle. He's been our family's lawyer for decades.”
They met at a diner where the coffee tasted like burnt toast. Vincent came alone, without a bodyguard. Grace appreciated the risk and resented him for making her notice.
“I'm not going to promise I can protect you,” he said. “I've done a poor job so far.”
“That's the first sensible thing you've said.”
“Then here's the second. I want to hand every record to a federal prosecutor. Not one chosen by my lawyers. Someone outside my circle.”
“What happens to your empire?”
“Maybe it ends.”
“Would you let it?”
He held her gaze. “I have to.”
Grace told him about the hospital bracelet. She had been treated by Dr. Helen Sloane after the accident, a doctor who later vanished from practice. Vincent recognized the name: Sloane had worked for his father, signing medical reports for people who needed new identities.
They found Sloane in a small clinic in Queens. The elderly doctor closed the blinds before she spoke.
“Leo Mercer didn't die in that fall,” Sloane said. “He was taken away with a broken spine. I was ordered to sign a death certificate.”
Grace's hand flew to her mouth.
Sloane pulled an old medical chart from a drawer. “And Daniel Bennett wasn't your biological father. He was the man who saved you.”
May you like
A knock rattled the clinic door. A voice outside called, “Police. Open up.”
Sloane whispered, “They're early.”
