Chapter 4 - A Signature I Never Wrote
At the hospital, a nurse asked whether I wanted Leo in the room.
She asked me, not him.
“Yes,” I said.
My ribs were bruised, my wrist was sprained, and a doctor wanted me watched overnight for a concussion.
Penny had no physical injury.
She still flinched whenever someone knocked.
While she slept in a chair under Leo's coat, Marcus arrived with a laptop and a woman named Nora Ellis.
“I'm here for you,” Nora said.
“Hart Meridian has separate counsel.”
I appreciated the distinction.
My husband had spent years calling his interests ours.
Marcus opened a document.
It authorized an eighteen-million-dollar payment from a Blackwood subsidiary to a company called Vantage Advisory.
The money was held under restrictions that required Hart Meridian's approval.
Someone had supplied mine.
“That's not my signature.”
“The release is on hold,” Marcus said.
“It arrived after the bank's processing cutoff. They requested confirmation.”
The date was today.
The attached authorization identified me by my married name as trustee of a Hart family trust.
My stomach turned.
“Julian knows?”
“He knows you have an interest,” Marcus said.
“This doesn't establish that he understands the voting shares.”
“You asked me downstairs how much he knew.”
“I needed your answer before I made assumptions.”
I stared at the imitation of my handwriting.
The E was perfect.
The rest looked careful, practiced, lifeless.
Three weeks earlier, Julian had brought a stack of school and household forms to breakfast.
He had kept his hand on the top page while I signed the ones underneath.
I remembered feeling irritated with myself for asking what they were.
“I want every page I've signed this year,” I said.
Nora wrote it down.
“We'll request them. Don't contact him.”
Penny woke when a cart rattled past.
She sat upright, searching for the door.
“We're still here,” I said.
“Can he come in?”
“The staff know he isn't allowed to visit.”
That answer was less comforting than a promise.
It was also true.
I was done building her safety out of things I wished were true.
Marcus turned the laptop toward me again.
The receiving company's registration had an address I recognized: a private mailbox Julian used for business.
Below it was the authorized representative's name.
Vanessa.
Nora looked at me.
“Were you expected to attend a signing tomorrow?”
“No.”
May you like
She pointed to an attachment.
It said I had already agreed to surrender my voting rights.
