Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE THAT WAS NEVER MINE
By four in the morning, I was sitting beside Irene's hospital bed with my phone in my hand and a truth I was not ready to face.
Someone had forged my signature.
Not years ago.
Not before I married Irene.
Recently.
And whatever they had forged it onto was important enough that my mother and sister were willing to break into my house, assault my pregnant wife, and destroy a reinforced safe just to find the original documents.
I kept replaying the recording in my head.
Those papers have to be in our hands tomorrow.
Once he signs the new papers, none of this matters anyway.
The words wouldn't leave me alone.
The sun was beginning to rise outside the hospital window when Detective Harris entered the room.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties with tired eyes and a notebook tucked beneath one arm.
He stopped beside the door.
“Mr. Wentworth?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Harris. I’m assigned to the incident at your residence.”
I nodded.
“How is your wife?”
“She’s stable.”
“And the baby?”
“The doctor says everything looks okay for now.”
He gave a small nod.
“That's good.”
Then his expression became serious.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
“I understand.”
He pulled a chair closer.
“Your mother and sister have both been taken into custody.”
I nodded.
“They're being questioned separately.”
“Good.”
“We recovered the hammer, the damaged safe, the suitcase, cash, jewelry, and several financial documents.”
“I know.”
“We also found blood on the floor and your wife's clothing.”
My jaw tightened.
Detective Harris watched me carefully.
“Mr. Wentworth, your wife has given us a preliminary statement.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That your mother has been pressuring her for months to sign documents related to your family business.”
I looked toward Irene.
She was asleep again.
“That's true.”
“She also said your mother accessed private documents in your office.”
“Yes.”
“And that your sister was involved.”
“I don't know how long Carla has been involved.”
He opened his notebook.
“Do you own Wentworth Development?”
“My grandfather founded it.”
“Do you control it?”
“I'm the managing partner.”
“And do you own shares through a family trust?”
“Yes.”
“Who else has access to those shares?”
I hesitated.
“My mother is a beneficiary of one family trust.”
“Does she have authority to transfer your shares?”
“No.”
“Your sister?”
“No.”
“Your wife?”
“No.”
“Then why would they need documents from your safe?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Harris looked at me.
“I think you do.”
I frowned.
He leaned forward.
“Because whatever they were looking for may be evidence of something they already did.”
My heart sank.
“You think they forged something.”
“I think you should find out.”
He reached into his folder and removed a printed document.
He placed it on the table.
“This was emailed to our department by your company's legal counsel.”
I picked it up.
My eyes immediately went to the bottom.
There was my signature.
My name.
My title.
And beneath it was a transfer authorization.
The document stated that I had approved the temporary transfer of a substantial portion of my voting shares in Wentworth Development to a company called W.H. Strategic Holdings.
I stared at it.
“I didn't sign this.”
“I assumed you would say that.”
“I've never seen this company.”
Detective Harris nodded.
“That's what concerns us.”
I studied the signature.
At first glance, it looked perfect.
The slant.
The spacing.
Even the small upward curve beneath the W.
Whoever had done this knew my signature extremely well.
Then I noticed something.
The date.
My stomach tightened.
“This was signed two weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“I was in Denver two weeks ago.”
“Your calendar confirms that.”
“So I couldn't have signed it here.”
“Correct.”
I looked at the detective.
“Where was this document submitted?”
“To the corporate registrar.”
“Who submitted it?”
“That is what we're trying to determine.”
My phone buzzed.
It was my company attorney, Daniel Price.
I answered immediately.
“Daniel?”
“Austin, thank God you're awake.”
“What happened?”
“We discovered the transfer request yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't call me?”
“We did.”
I frowned.
“My phone never rang.”
“I left three messages.”
I looked at the screen.
There were no missed calls.
Daniel continued.
“That's not the worst part.”
“What is?”
“The transfer was scheduled to become effective at nine this morning.”
My entire body went cold.
“What?”
“Nine a.m.”
I looked at the hospital clock.
7:42.
Less than ninety minutes.
“Can you stop it?”
“We already contacted the registrar.”
“And?”
“They need proof the signature is fraudulent.”
“I'll give it to them.”
“It's not that simple.”
“Why?”
“Because the person who submitted the documents included a second authorization.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Whose?”
“Your grandfather's estate trustee.”
I froze.
“My grandfather has been dead for twelve years.”
“I know.”
“Then who authorized it?”
Daniel's voice became quieter.
“Your mother.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Gertrude had known about the family trust.
She had been trying to manipulate the inheritance.
But this was different.
This was an attempt to seize control of the company.
“How much of my voting power?”
“Twenty-eight percent.”
My heart pounded.
Twenty-eight percent was enough to change the balance of the board.
Enough to remove me as managing partner.
Enough to redirect millions of dollars.
Enough to put someone else in control.
“Who owns W.H. Strategic Holdings?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Find out.”
“We're trying.”
“No.”
I stood.
“You find out now.”
Daniel was silent.
“Austin, you're at the hospital.”
“I don't care.”
“You need to stay with Irene.”
“I am staying with her.”
I looked at my wife.
“But I'm also going to stop whoever is trying to steal my company.”
Daniel sighed.
“We'll do everything we can.”
I ended the call.
Detective Harris had been listening.
He stood.
“I'll make sure our department knows about the corporate fraud.”
“Thank you.”
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“When you go home, don't go alone.”
I nodded.
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because if your mother and sister were willing to do what they did tonight, there's a good chance they aren't the only people involved.”
After he left, I sat back down.
Irene opened her eyes.
“What happened?”
I looked at her.
“My mother tried to steal control of my company.”
Her face went pale.
“I told you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She slowly pushed herself upright.
“I told you they were planning something.”
I took her hand.
“I should have listened.”
She squeezed my fingers.
Then she whispered,
“Austin, there is something you don't know.”
“What?”
“Your mother didn't start this.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
Irene looked toward the closed hospital door.
“She told me someone else was behind her.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Did she give you a name?”
Irene shook her head.
“But she said one thing.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘We only have until Austin comes back.’”
I looked at the clock.
7:51.
Then I remembered the phrase from the recording.
Tomorrow morning.
The transfer was scheduled for nine.
Someone had known exactly when I was supposed to be out of the country.
Someone had known the flight schedule.
Someone had known Irene would be alone.
Someone had planned around my absence.
This wasn't a family argument.
It wasn't greed that had suddenly gotten out of control.
It was a plan.
And my canceled flight had ruined their timing.
I looked at Irene.
“I'm going to find out who.”
She shook her head.
“Be careful.”
I kissed her forehead.
“I will.”
But as I reached for my phone, a message appeared from an unknown number.
You should have stayed on the plane.
Underneath it was a photograph.
The photograph showed the entrance to the hospital.
Taken less than five minutes earlier.
I stared at it.
Someone was watching us.
May you like
And they were close.
Very close.
