Chapter 4 - THE FORTY-EIGHT-MILLION-DOLLAR TRAPMartin Keller was sitting upright in a hospital bed when I arrived.
He looked twenty years older than the man who'd attended our Christmas dinner nine months earlier.
His face was pale.
A hospital bracelet circled his wrist.
His wife, Susan, sat beside him holding a paper cup of coffee.
When she saw me, her expression tightened.
"Claire."
"Susan. I'm sorry to come without much warning."
She glanced toward Martin.
"He said you might."
Martin gave me a tired smile.
"Hello, Claire."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like a man who made several terrible decisions."
I pulled up a chair.
"Patricia told me you wanted to speak with someone from Northstar."
He nodded.
"I've been trying to report what's happening for weeks."
"Then tell me."
Susan looked worried.
"Martin, the doctor said—"
"I know."
He reached for her hand.
"Just a few minutes."
I didn't interrupt.
Finally, Martin spoke.
"Three months ago, Aaron started pushing unusually large payments through our acquisition department."
"To Cole Strategic Ventures?"
"That was one of them."
"One of them?"
He nodded.
"At first, they were smaller amounts. Two hundred thousand. Five hundred thousand. Then several million."
"Did you approve them?"
"Some of the earlier payments had supporting documentation. When I found inconsistencies, I stopped authorizing them."
"What happened?"
"Aaron accused me of undermining him."
Martin stared at the blanket.
"He said I was becoming an obstacle to Prescott Global's future."
"And then you went on medical leave?"
"I didn't go voluntarily."
He turned toward Susan.
She opened her bag and handed me a sealed envelope.
Inside was a copy of a letter.
Martin had been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation into alleged misconduct.
The letter was signed by Aaron.
"Why did everyone think you were sick?" I asked.
"Because Aaron told them that."
Martin's voice cracked.
"Two weeks later, I actually ended up here. Chest pains. The doctors told me I needed rest."
I looked at the envelope.
"Did Aaron accuse you of stealing money?"
"Not directly. He accused me of failing to supervise financial controls."
"Controls he was overriding?"
Martin nodded.
He looked ashamed.
"I should have gone to the audit committee earlier."
"Why didn't you?"
He closed his eyes.
"Because he threatened to destroy my career."
I waited.
"He said he had evidence that I approved improper payments. He told me nobody would believe I was innocent."
"Did you approve improper payments?"
"I signed some that later turned out to have misleading descriptions. I accept responsibility for failing to investigate them properly."
It wasn't the answer of a man trying to pretend he'd done everything right.
It was the answer of a frightened person who knew his mistakes could be used against him.
I leaned forward.
"Martin, there was another payment today. Twenty-eight million dollars."
His eyes opened sharply.
"What?"
"It was authorized using your credentials."
"That's impossible."
"We believe someone used your account."
He shook his head.
"My access was disabled two weeks ago."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. I received the termination notice myself."
Susan put her hand over her mouth.
Martin looked at me.
"Claire, if someone reactivated my credentials, they're trying to make it look like I approved the transfer."
"That's what we're investigating."
He reached toward the bedside table and picked up his phone.
"I have something you need to see."
He opened an encrypted folder.
Inside were copies of internal emails, payment summaries, and accounting schedules that he had preserved through his attorney.
One email stood out.
It was from Aaron.
Martin, stop questioning the Cole agreement. Victor has assured me the financing arrangement is perfectly legitimate. Process the payment and leave the strategic decisions to people who understand the bigger picture.
I read it twice.
"Victor Lang?"
"Yes."
"What was Victor doing at Prescott Global?"
"Advising Aaron on a restructuring proposal."
"Was the board informed?"
"Not properly."
Martin looked exhausted.
"Victor convinced Aaron that Northstar's financing terms were restricting the company's growth."
I almost smiled at the absurdity.
Northstar had provided Prescott Global with hundreds of millions of dollars when traditional lenders were refusing to take the risk.
But Aaron had begun treating contractual protections as personal insults.
"What did Victor propose?"
Martin answered slowly.
"A new investor would acquire a portion of Prescott Global's outstanding debt. Then, if certain conditions were met, the company could negotiate a restructuring that reduced Northstar's influence."
"Which investor?"
Martin shook his head.
"The proposals used several investment vehicles. I couldn't identify the ultimate beneficial owners."
I looked at the emails again.
"And the forty-eight million?"
"He claimed it was a strategic advisory payment tied to the restructuring."
"Did you believe him?"
"No."
"Why?"
Martin swallowed.
"Because when I asked for evidence of the services, Victor told Aaron that I needed to be removed."
A quiet anger settled in my chest.
I had come to the hospital expecting to hear about money.
Instead, I was listening to a man describe how his career had been threatened for asking basic questions.
"Martin, will you cooperate with an independent investigation?"
"Yes."
"I'll ask Daniel to contact your lawyer. Everything needs to go through the proper channels."
He nodded.
Then he caught my sleeve.
"Claire?"
"Yes?"
"There's something Aaron doesn't know."
My heart beat faster.
"What?"
"Victor isn't trying to help him escape Northstar."
Martin glanced at Susan.
"He's been buying Prescott Global debt through companies he controls."
I thought of Rebecca's warning.
"How much?"
"I couldn't establish the total."
He lowered his voice.
"But enough to make me worry about what happens if the company defaults."
I left the hospital at 4:38 p.m.
Outside, Boston was gray and cold.
My phone contained thirteen missed calls from Aaron.
Six from his attorney.
And one message from Jasmine.
You really think you can fight us? Aaron has already signed the divorce papers. He's moving me into the house tonight.
I stared at the screen.
Then another notification appeared.
A message from our household manager, Elena.
Mrs. Prescott, I'm sorry to bother you. Mr. Prescott is here with Miss Cole. They're asking me to pack your belongings.
I called Elena immediately.
"Don't argue with them," I said. "And don't put yourself in danger. You don't need to move anything."
"But Mrs. Prescott—"
"I'll handle it."
I ended the call and contacted my divorce attorney, Sarah Whitman.
Sarah had represented my family for seventeen years.
She listened while I explained the situation.
Then she said, "Claire, remember that Aaron cannot simply decide you have no rights to the marital home because his name is on the deed. We need to review ownership, occupancy, and the relevant court process."
"I know."
"Do you want me to seek temporary orders?"
"Yes. And I want everything documented."
"Where are you going tonight?"
I looked toward Northstar's headquarters.
"Somewhere I can think."
At 6:10 p.m., Sarah called again.
"Claire, I've just received Aaron's proposed divorce settlement."
"Already?"
"He must have been preparing it for some time."
My stomach sank.
"What does it say?"
"He wants you to release all claims against the marital estate in exchange for a one-time payment of two hundred thousand dollars."
I laughed bitterly.
Our home alone was worth nearly eighteen million.
"And?"
Sarah hesitated.
"There's a confidentiality provision."
"Of course."
"And a clause requiring you to surrender any direct or indirect claims to Prescott Global."
I stopped walking.
"Read that last part again."
She did.
The wording was unusually broad.
It covered interests held personally, beneficially, through trusts, through affiliated entities, and through investment vehicles.
My heartbeat quickened.
"Sarah, why would Aaron include that?"
"I was going to ask you the same question."
I looked up at the glass windows of Northstar.
For the first time, I wondered whether someone had discovered my connection to the firm and was trying to use the divorce to reach my investments.
"Don't respond yet," I said.
"Claire, there's one more thing."
"What?"
"His attorney attached a document claiming you authorized Aaron to act on your behalf in certain investment matters."
I felt the world tilt.
"What document?"
"A power of attorney."
I had never given Aaron power of attorney over my investments.
"Send it to me."
Thirty seconds later, the document arrived.
I opened it.
There was my name.
My maiden name.
Claire Eleanor Reed.
And beneath it, a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
Almost.
Because whoever had copied my signature had made one tiny mistake.
My mother had taught me to write my middle initial with a distinctive loop.
The signature on the document didn't have it.
I stared at the page.
Then I called Daniel.
"I need you to review a document."
"What kind?"
"A forged power of attorney."
He became silent.
"Who is claiming to hold it?"
I looked at Aaron's signature on the accompanying declaration.
"My husband."
Daniel took a sharp breath.
"Claire, don't sign anything. Send us the document."
I forwarded it.
Less than a minute later, he called back.
His voice had changed.
"This isn't just attached to the divorce settlement."
"What do you mean?"
"We received an electronic copy of the same document this morning."
"From whom?"
Daniel hesitated.
"Victor Lang's attorneys."
My skin went cold.
"What did they want?"
"They were asking whether Aaron had authority to consent to certain changes affecting interests associated with the Reed Family Trust."
I looked at my reflection in the darkened window.
For eleven years, Aaron had laughed at my financial ignorance.
May you like
Now someone was trying to forge my signature to obtain power over my investments.
And I had a terrible feeling that Jasmine wasn't the most dangerous person in his life.
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