Chapter 4 - MY SIGNATURE WASN’T THE ONLY ONE THEY STOLE
By sunrise, Marcus was at the hospital.
He looked like he had dressed in the dark.
His tie was crooked. One shoe had a small scuff across the toe. He carried two coffees and a stack of printed filings.
He gave me one cup.
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
“Good. We’re still friends.”
For the first time all night, I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then he sat down.
“I checked the court docket.”
“And?”
“The guardianship petition is real.”
My hand tightened around the coffee.
“Filed three days ago.”
“By my mother?”
“Through an attorney named Raymond Pike.”
I knew that name.
Carla had dated a Raymond two years earlier.
She described him as “boring but useful.”
At the time, I hadn’t asked what useful meant.
I should have.
Marcus continued.
“Pike has a small probate practice. He’s had disciplinary complaints before.”
“Fraud?”
“Nothing proven.”
“Yet.”
“Yet.”
He handed me another document.
“This is the more serious problem.”
It was a corporate resolution for Wentworth Development Group.
My company.
The resolution transferred limited voting authority to Margaret Wentworth if I became medically incapacitated.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
It looked perfect.
I stared at it.
“I didn’t sign this.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You always use your full middle name on board resolutions. This says Austin J. Wentworth.”
He tapped the page.
“You sign Austin James Wentworth.”
A tiny mistake.
One letter.
That one letter may have saved my company.
Marcus leaned back.
“The people doing this know a lot about you, but not everything.”
I thought about the mystery man in my home.
“Could Pike be the man Irene saw?”
“Maybe.”
I showed him the audio and video on my phone.
His face hardened as he watched Mom yank Irene’s hair.
When Carla said, We need those papers tomorrow, Marcus paused the recording.
“That line matters.”
“Why?”
“Because this wasn’t spontaneous. They attacked Irene to complete a plan.”
A nurse entered before he could say more.
“Mr. Wentworth? Toxicology is back.”
I stood.
The doctor joined us.
“We found a benzodiazepine in your wife’s system.”
Irene frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“A sedative.”
“I don’t take sedatives.”
“We also found traces suggesting repeated exposure.”
My hands curled into fists.
“How long?”
“Potentially weeks.”
Irene covered her mouth.
The doctor added, “At the level we found, it could cause confusion, memory gaps, poor coordination, and excessive sleepiness.”
Everything clicked.
Her forgotten appointments.
Her falling asleep at dinner.
The morning she woke up on the bathroom floor and couldn’t explain why.
Mom had called it pregnancy.
I had believed her.
I hated myself for that.
Marcus pulled me aside.
“Austin, listen carefully. Don’t contact your mother. Don’t contact Carla. Let the police work.”
“I want them buried.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
He looked me dead in the eye.
“I do. But anger is exactly what their legal strategy is built around.”
“What?”
He pointed to the guardianship filing.
“They claim you’re paranoid, unstable, and violent when challenged.”
I stared at him.
“They were preparing for my reaction.”
“Yes.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a distorted male voice said:
“Drop the charges against your mother.”
I looked at Marcus.
The caller continued.
“You think the documents in that suitcase were the originals?”
My heart stopped.
Then the man laughed softly.
“Check your father’s trust account, Austin.”
The call ended.
Marcus was already opening his laptop.
“What did he say?”
I swallowed.
“He told me to check the trust.”
Marcus logged in through the secure portal.
Ten seconds later, his face changed.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
My father’s trust had held over eighteen million dollars two months earlier.
The current balance was $11.4 million.
May you like
I stared at the missing number.
Nearly seven million dollars was gone.
