Chapter 3 - What Mark Thought He Was Stealing
Mark found me thirty seconds later.
He looked relieved.
Then saw Thomas.
His face emptied.
“Who the hell are you?”
Thomas stepped out.
“You really don't recognize me?”
Mark stared.
Then slowly looked toward me.
“Emily…”
“You've seen pictures of my father.”
Mark went pale.
Of course he had.
Wedding album.
Childhood photographs.
Lydia's house.
Thomas Reed had been dead throughout our entire marriage.
Apparently Mark knew enough to be frightened.
That mattered.
“Why are you here?” Mark asked.
Thomas answered:
“To stop your mother from finishing what she started twelve years ago.”
I looked between them.
“Start talking.”
Mark ignored me.
“Mom said he was gone.”
Thomas laughed without humor.
“Eleanor has said that about a lot of people.”
Then the interior door opened.
Eleanor entered.
She saw Thomas.
The prescription bottle slipped from her hand.
For perhaps the first time in my life, Eleanor Hale looked genuinely afraid.
“You.”
Thomas nodded.
“Hello, Eleanor.”
Mark stared at his mother.
“You know him?”
Nobody answered quickly enough.
That was answer enough.
I reached for the pill bottle.
Mark instinctively moved toward it.
Thomas blocked him.
“Give her the medication.”
Eleanor recovered.
“You have no idea what dosage she has already taken.”
“My discharge sheet is in the bag,” I said.
Silence.
Thomas picked up the bag, checked the instructions, and handed me the bottle.
I took the prescribed dose myself.
No one controlled it.
Then I looked at Mark.
“You knew those documents were forged?”
His mouth tightened.
“I didn't know they were forged.”
“What did you think they were?”
“Estate restructuring.”
“My estate?”
“Our estate.”
There it was.
I almost laughed.
My grandmother's company had existed before I met Mark.
So had the commercial building.
So had most of the investment account.
Our prenup explicitly separated those assets.
Mark hated the prenup.
Eleanor hated it more.
Mark believed the papers would temporarily consolidate management while I recovered.
His mother told him it would simplify taxes and allow him to refinance the commercial building.
For what?
Mark hesitated.
Eleanor snapped:
“Don't.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
Mark whispered:
“My company is in trouble.”
I knew his consulting firm had lost two clients.
I did not know it was collapsing.
“How much?”
“About eight hundred thousand.”
My stomach dropped.
“You wanted to borrow against my building?”
“Temporarily.”
“That word is doing a lot of work today.”
Mark looked ashamed.
Then Thomas said:
“Eight hundred thousand isn't why Eleanor needs Emily's signature.”
Eleanor's expression hardened.
“Shut up.”
Thomas looked at me.
“The building your grandmother left you isn't worth three million.”
“I know. Recent appraisal was 3.4.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“The building is sitting on land owned through another entity.”
“What entity?”
Thomas pointed at the envelope.
“Open it.”
The stranger on the phone had warned me not to.
Eleanor now looked desperate.
That made my choice easy.
I tore open the envelope.
Inside was a survey.
A trust instrument.
And an appraisal.
Current land and redevelopment value:
$27.8 million.
I stared.
Then found the ownership line.
Beneficial owner:
Emily Reed Bennett.
My maiden name.
Not Hale.
Not Mark.
Me.
Mark looked like he had been punched.
Eleanor whispered:
“That document isn't valid.”
Thomas smiled coldly.
“You've spent twelve years trying to make sure it never becomes valid.”
Then I saw the trustee's name.
May you like
Thomas Reed.
My supposedly dead father.
