Chapter 3 - The Will in the Desk
The altered will left everything to me.
That should have been reassuring.
It wasn’t.
Because Lucas’s genuine will also left everything to me.
The difference was one paragraph.
The fake version removed something called Schedule C.
“What is Schedule C?”
Samantha didn’t answer immediately.
“Lucas created it six months before his death.”
“What does it contain?”
“Instructions concerning Baldwin-Gallagher Logistics.”
My father’s company again.
“What instructions?”
Samantha pulled the hospital-room door closed.
“Lucas believed someone inside the company was stealing.”
My stomach tightened.
“Dad?”
“He didn’t know.”
Lucas had discovered irregular payments.
Shell vendors.
Phantom trucking contracts.
Insurance reimbursements for accidents that apparently never happened.
Nearly $14 million over five years.
He quietly hired forensic accountants.
Then he created Schedule C.
If Lucas died unexpectedly before completing the investigation, control of his voting shares transferred immediately into my trust.
No executive—including Charles—could sell company assets until an independent audit was completed.
“And the fraud clause?”
“If anyone attempted to circumvent the trust using forged authorization, all executive discretionary accounts would automatically freeze pending review.”
My father had walked directly into Lucas’s trap.
But something bothered me.
“Why hide a fake will in my house?”
Samantha nodded.
“Exactly.”
If Charles created it, why bring evidence of his own fraud into the property he was trying to seize?
Maybe he hadn’t.
My phone rang.
Charles.
Samantha told me to record.
I answered.
“What?”
“You need to tell police I didn’t hurt you.”
“You dragged me by my hair.”
“I was angry.”
“Congratulations. You’ve identified motive.”
“Victoria!”
The fetal monitor accelerated with my heartbeat.
I lowered my voice.
“Why were you searching Lucas’s desk?”
Silence.
Then:
“I was looking for something.”
“What?”
“Schedule C.”
Samantha and I exchanged looks.
“How do you know about it?”
Another silence.
Then my father said:
“Because Lucas called me the night before he died.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“He said he found the thief.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“I was going to.”
“Three weeks later?”
“Victoria, I thought the documents in your house might tell me.”
“So you forged my signature?”
“No.”
I looked at Samantha.
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Martin Cross?”
Charles went silent.
There it was.
“Dad?”
His voice changed.
“Stay away from Martin.”
“Why?”
“I mean it.”
The line disconnected.
Samantha immediately called her investigator.
Martin Cross had represented Charles for eighteen years.
He handled corporate acquisitions.
Estate matters.
Insurance claims.
And apparently paperwork connected to the $14 million in questionable transactions.
Then a nurse rushed in.
“Victoria, we need you to lie back.”
The baby’s heart rate had changed.
Suddenly lawyers, trusts and stolen money disappeared.
There was only my child.
Doctors entered.
Machines moved.
A mask covered my face.
“Your baby is showing distress.”
My hands started shaking.
“Is she okay?”
“We’re watching closely.”
She.
Lucas and I had deliberately kept the sex a surprise.
I started crying.
Lucas should have been there.
Instead my father was under investigation and someone had altered my dead husband’s will.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
One photograph.
Lucas.
Taken at a highway rest stop.
Timestamped forty-seven minutes before his fatal accident.
He was standing beside another man.
Martin Cross.
May you like
Beneath the photograph:
YOUR HUSBAND’S CRASH WASN’T AN ACCIDENT.
