Chapter 3 - My Name in Someone Else’s Hand
Ben met us in Ruth’s office at seven the next morning.
He wore yesterday’s shirt and carried a canvas bag instead of his usual briefcase.
“I didn’t know what happened at the gala until this morning.”
“Then why were you calling?” I asked.
He put a folder on the conference table.
“Because I finally understood what Everett was doing.”
Ruth did not touch the folder.
“Start at the beginning.”
Hale Development was scheduled to close a major construction loan Monday morning.
The project was called Harbor Point.
Three residential buildings, ground-floor retail, hundreds of jobs.
Everett had been talking about it for two years.
Apparently, he had also been borrowing against money that did not belong to him.
“The lender wanted additional support,” Ben said. “Everett provided a guarantee backed by Claire’s investment assets.”
“My assets?”
“He said you had approved it.”
“And you believed him?”
Ben looked down.
“Yes.”
The simplicity of that answer made me angrier than an excuse would have.
He slid the document toward me.
My name appeared on the last page.
CLAIRE BENNETT HALE.
The middle initial was wrong.
I didn’t have one.
Everett had copied a signature from an old holiday card where a flourish connected Bennett to Hale.
He had mistaken it for an initial.
Ruth photographed the page.
“Who witnessed this?”
“A notary Everett brought in.”
“Who sent it to the lender?”
Ben swallowed.
“I did.”
Silence settled over the table.
“I thought it was real.”
“When did you stop thinking that?” I asked.
“Yesterday. He told me to replace the supporting asset schedule.”
“With what?”
“Something bigger.”
Ruth leaned forward.
“How much bigger?”
“Enough to cover thirty-two million dollars.”
I looked at Ben until he looked back.
“You had my number.”
“I know.”
“You’ve had dinner in my home.”
“I know.”
“You could have called.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
Ruth opened a legal pad.
“You’ll need independent counsel. We represent Claire. You understand that?”
He nodded.
Then he reached into the bag again.
“There’s more.”
A stack of invoices landed beside the guarantee.
Consulting payments.
Marketing retainers.
Event expenses.
One company appeared on every other page.
V. Reed Strategies.
Vanessa’s company.
“How much?” I asked.
“Eight hundred and forty thousand over fourteen months.”
Everett had told me our final fertility treatment was too expensive.
He had said we needed to be realistic.
I remembered apologizing for wanting another chance.
Ruth’s phone rang.
Her assistant spoke quickly.
Ruth stood.
“Everett is downstairs.”
My phone vibrated at the same moment.
Come home, Claire. We need to talk before you do something stupid.
May you like
Through the conference-room glass, I watched the elevator doors open.
My husband stepped out carrying flowers.
