Chapter 10 - BEFORE THE CRASH
Elaine spread the original waterfront agreement across her conference table.
The document from the vendor file carried a scanned version of my signature.
This copy, produced by company counsel from archived records, had fresh pen marks and page tabs.
I recognized my handwriting in the margin.
Reduce term. No personal guarantee. Independent appraisal required.
“I signed this,” I said.
Elaine nodded.
“Yes. But look at what you signed.”
It was an option allowing Harbor Renewal Partners to propose a purchase after meeting conditions.
Not a completed sale.
Not permission to transfer project money.
The amended vendor copy removed the appraisal clause and widened the payment authorization.
Peter compared the financial records with the original option.
“The first transfer predates your accident by four months.”
That was why my note said put it back.
I had discovered a theft inside an agreement I had once trusted.
Frank found the archived police report and photographs from the crash.
No mechanical cause had been established.
The road had been wet.
A witness reported that my car swerved before hitting the divider.
I studied the photographs until my eyes hurt.
A memory surfaced in pieces: Nicholas standing by my desk, pale and furious; my coat over one arm; Vivian saying we could settle it at home.
I didn’t trust a returning memory enough to call it evidence.
But I wrote it down for Maya, including what I wasn’t sure about.
Frank visited the towing company that had stored the car.
Its old intake photographs showed the passenger seat.
On it was a folder and a takeaway coffee cup.
The cup hadn’t been retained.
There would be no useful test three years later.
Vivian had handed me coffee before I left that night.
I remembered that much now.
Whether it had contained anything, I might never prove.
Peter gave us something stronger.
A voicemail Nicholas had left the afternoon before the crash.
He had kept it with his audit records because it threatened his engagement.
My brother’s voice filled the room.
“If Adrian meets you tomorrow, the deal dies. Talk to Vivian. She knows how to slow him down.”
I listened twice.
The insomnia hadn’t created an opportunity for them.
They had already needed one.
Then Frank’s phone rang.
The pharmacist who filled my labeled prescriptions had examined the packets we collected.
“They aren’t ours,” she said.
May you like
“Are you certain?”
“Our lot numbers don’t match. And the pills inside aren’t what those labels say.”
