Chapter 3 - THE TWELVE PERCENTI spent the next morning in a conference room overlooking Aurelia’s Los Angeles hangars, surrounded by people who had known my father far better than Patricia ever realized.
Thomas Shaw sat to my right.
Across from us was Elena Brooks, Aurelia’s general counsel.
Arthur Klein joined by encrypted video.
Marcus Vale appeared on another screen from Chicago.
I had slept three hours.
Nobody looked much better.
“Start at the beginning,” I said.
Marcus removed his glasses.
“Twenty years ago, Bennett Regional Aviation was close to bankruptcy.”
I knew that part.
Dad rarely discussed it, but I remembered nights when he came home after midnight and sat alone in the kitchen staring at bills.
Marcus continued.
“Richard needed capital. Banks wouldn't lend enough. So he created a private equity participation pool.”
Arthur nodded slowly.
“I remember the restructuring.”
“You didn't see every side agreement.”
Arthur looked offended.
“That would have been highly unusual.”
“Richard wanted it unusual.”
Elena leaned forward.
“Who participated?”
“Five investors. Four were later bought out.”
“And the fifth?”
Marcus looked at me.
“Your father.”
I frowned.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“He held twelve percent outside the primary ownership trust.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Against what?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Against Patricia.”
That made the room still.
I stared at him.
“My father created a secret twelve-percent ownership stake because of his wife?”
“Yes.”
Arthur rubbed his forehead.
“Richard suspected Patricia would challenge Emily?”
“Not originally.”
Marcus opened a file.
“When Richard married Patricia, she signed a prenuptial agreement waiving claims against the operating business.”
“I've seen it,” Elena said.
“But three years later,” Marcus continued, “Patricia began pressuring him to amend it.”
My stomach tightened.
Dad had never told me.
Marcus went on.
“She wanted equity transferred into a marital vehicle. Richard refused.”
“Madison isn't Richard's biological daughter,” I said.
“No.”
“Then why would he transfer shares to her?”
“He didn’t.”
Marcus paused.
“He transferred the dormant stake to a holding company.”
Thomas leaned in.
“Who controls the holding company?”
“Originally Richard.”
“And now?”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“That depends on whether certain documents are valid.”
I stared at him.
“What documents?”
He turned a page toward the camera.
“Three months before Richard died, control of that holding company was purportedly transferred to Madison Hale.”
Madison's legal surname before she started using Bennett socially.
I felt an ache behind my eyes.
“Purportedly?”
“The signatures are Richard’s.”
“Then what's the question?”
Marcus hesitated.
“The date.”
Arthur spoke sharply.
“What about it?”
“The document was dated May 14.”
I remembered May 14.
Dad had been hospitalized.
Cancer had spread.
He was weak, sedated, sometimes confused.
Arthur's face changed.
“He couldn't have signed corporate papers that day.”
“That is exactly why Richard gave me sealed instructions.”
Marcus held up an envelope.
“He apparently discovered the transfer.”
“After it happened?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And he thought Patricia did it?”
“He never named her.”
“Then what did he say?”
Marcus opened a scanned letter.
“His exact wording was: ‘If the dormant interest reappears after my death, someone has used my illness to steal from my daughter.’”
Nobody spoke.
My throat tightened.
That sounded like Dad.
Not sentimental.
Not dramatic.
Precise.
Angry.
Elena asked, “Why wasn't this investigated then?”
“Because the dormant interest never reappeared.”
“Until now?”
Marcus nodded.
“I monitor the holding company under Richard's instructions. Yesterday evening, a law firm filed notice requesting recognition of voting rights.”
“Whose law firm?”
He looked at me.
“Patricia Bennett’s.”
There it was.
The airline incident hadn't created Patricia's threat.
It had accelerated it.
She had already been preparing something.
“How much voting power does twelve percent give her?” Thomas asked.
“Potentially more than twelve,” Elena answered before Marcus could.
Everyone looked at her.
She opened Aurelia's bylaws.
“Under the original conversion agreement, legacy founder shares carry enhanced voting rights on certain matters.”
“How enhanced?” I asked.
Elena looked grim.
“Three votes per share for board restructuring.”
Thirty-six percent.
My stomach sank.
Thomas muttered something under his breath.
“With allied minority investors,” Elena continued, “they could attempt to replace board members.”
“Could they remove Emily?”
“Not easily. But they could create paralysis. Challenge acquisitions. Delay financing. Frighten lenders. Trigger litigation.”
Arthur leaned toward his camera.
“We need to establish fraud.”
“If there was fraud,” Elena said.
I looked at her.
“You think Dad transferred it willingly?”
“I think we prove, not assume.”
Good answer.
That was why she was my counsel.
Marcus said, “There's more.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Richard's letter instructed me to give Emily something else if the dormant shares were activated.”
He disappeared from camera.
When he returned, he held a small black notebook.
My father’s handwriting was visible on the cover.
R.B.
My chest tightened.
“What is that?”
“His private log.”
Marcus opened it.
“Meetings. Calls. Concerns about Patricia. Dates.”
Arthur stared.
“Why did he give that to you?”
“Because he didn't know whom to trust.”
That hurt more than I expected.
My father had spent his last months surrounded by family and lawyers, yet apparently feared he couldn't trust any of us with the whole truth.
Not even me.
Marcus began reading.
“February 8: P asked again about equity for M. Refused.”
“March 11: P furious over revised trust.”
“April 3: caught P in office after midnight.”
“April 22: missing corporate seal.”
Elena's head snapped up.
“Corporate seal?”
“Yes.”
“May 16?”
Marcus flipped pages.
Then stopped.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked toward the camera.
“May 16 says: ‘Transfer discovered. Signature appears mine. It is not.’”
My hands went cold.
There it was.
Forgery.
Or at least Dad believed it was.
“Continue,” I said.
“May 18: ‘P says I’m confused. I am not confused.’”
I closed my eyes.
I could hear him.
Patricia had often told people Dad became confused near the end.
I had believed some of it.
Cancer medications could do that.
But what if she had used that assumption?
Marcus continued.
“May 22: ‘Need proof before confronting. M may not know.’”
Madison may not know.
Interesting.
Then the final entry.
“June 1: ‘If I don't finish this, Emily will.’”
Silence.
Dad died June 9.
Eight days later.
I looked around the conference table.
“This stays confidential.”
Everyone nodded.
“Emily,” Thomas said, “Patricia is going to go public.”
“I know.”
“She may claim you're hiding assets.”
“I know.”
“She may attack your father's estate.”
“I know.”
He watched me.
“What do you want to do?”
I looked through the glass toward an Aurelia jet being serviced below.
Five years earlier, we had nearly failed during expansion.
I had spent nights sleeping in airport offices.
I knew mechanics by name.
Dispatchers.
Schedulers.
Pilots.
Cleaners.
Customer-service agents.
Aurelia wasn't a trophy.
It was six thousand paychecks.
Six thousand families.
Patricia thought ownership was a champagne seat in First Class.
She had no idea what responsibility cost.
“We prove the transfer was forged.”
Elena nodded.
“We'll need original documents.”
“Get them.”
“Medical records from your father's hospitalization.”
“Whatever we can legally obtain.”
“Handwriting analysis.”
“Do it.”
Thomas asked, “And Patricia?”
“Nothing.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing?”
“She expects me to attack.”
“So?”
“So we don't.”
I stood.
“We let her move first.”
My phone buzzed.
A news notification.
I looked down.
A photograph of Patricia appeared beside a headline.
AIRLINE HEIRESS HUMILIATES WIDOWED STEPMOTHER AFTER MID-FLIGHT POWER DISPLAY.
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was predictable.
Thomas groaned.
“That was quick.”
I opened the article.
Patricia had already given an interview.
She claimed I had been “estranged from the family for years.”
False.
She claimed I had “seized control of Richard’s legacy.”
False.
Then I saw the final quote.
“My daughter Madison is also a rightful heir to the company, and very soon the truth about Emily’s ownership will come out.”
Elena slowly closed her laptop.
“Well.”
I showed them the screen.
“She moved first.”
My phone rang again.
This time it was Madison.
I stared at her name.
We hadn't spoken since the plane.
I answered.
“What?”
For once, Madison didn't sound arrogant.
She sounded terrified.
“Emily.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to see you.”
“Talk to your attorney.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
There was silence.
Then:
“Because Mom doesn't know I'm calling.”
I looked at Elena.
“What happened?”
May you like
Madison whispered:
“I found something in her safe.”
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