Chapter 6 - Twenty PercentThe signature looked like mine.
That was the worst part.
Had it been obviously wrong, I could have dismissed it.
Instead the “C” curved exactly the way mine did.
The “M” in Mercer leaned slightly left.
Even the small upward flick I made at the end was there.
But I had never signed the document.
It transferred my twenty-percent ownership in Mercer Development to Andrew for “good and valuable consideration.”
The consideration listed was ten dollars.
Ten.
I stared at the page across Jennifer’s conference table.
“He bought twenty percent of a multimillion-dollar company from me for ten dollars?”
Jennifer shook her head.
“That language is common. It doesn’t mean ten dollars literally changed hands.”
“Well, that makes it much better.”
Marcus sat beside her.
“We sent the signature to an examiner.”
“How long?”
“Preliminary opinion tomorrow.”
Dad stood at the window.
He hadn’t spoken much.
I knew why.
He was furious.
Not explosive fury.
Dad’s anger ran cold.
“When was this supposedly signed?” I asked.
Jennifer pointed to the date.
March 14, 2024.
I knew exactly where I had been.
“Inova Fairfax.”
Everyone looked at me.
“I was in the hospital.”
“Why?” Marcus asked.
“Sophie.”
I had been twenty-nine weeks pregnant when I developed premature contractions.
Nothing serious ultimately happened, but I spent thirty-six hours under observation.
I pulled out my phone.
“I have photographs.”
There I was.
Hospital bracelet.
Monitor straps around my belly.
Dad asleep in a chair beside the bed.
Timestamp: March 14.
11:43 a.m.
The alleged transfer document had supposedly been notarized at 12:10 p.m. in Arlington.
Jennifer’s expression sharpened.
“Who notarized it?”
Marcus read the name.
“Vanessa Cole.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“She was a notary?”
“Commissioned in Virginia at the time.”
My skin crawled.
Vanessa had notarized my forged signature while I lay in a hospital bed pregnant with Andrew’s child.
Jennifer closed the folder.
“This changes things.”
“How?”
“If the signature is forged, your ownership interest may never have transferred.”
“Meaning I still own twenty percent?”
“Possibly.”
“Of the company Andrew says is his?”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
For years, Andrew had told me I contributed nothing.
That I was lucky.
That he paid for everything.
That his success gave me the life I had.
Meanwhile he may have stolen my legal ownership while I was carrying our daughter.
The cruelty of it almost impressed me.
Almost.
The next morning, Mercer Development’s board held an emergency meeting.
Andrew did not invite me.
Jennifer sent notice thirty minutes beforehand asserting my shareholder rights.
That got attention.
At 9:58 a.m., we entered the company’s glass headquarters in Tysons.
I had not been there in eight months.
After Sophie’s birth, Andrew gradually discouraged my involvement.
“You should enjoy being a mom.”
“Work is stressful.”
“You don’t need to prove anything.”
I had interpreted it as concern.
Now I understood.
He had needed me away from records.
The receptionist stared when I walked in.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
“Hi, Jenna.”
“I…”
Her eyes darted toward security.
A man in a suit approached.
“Mrs. Mercer, I’ve been instructed—”
Jennifer handed him a letter.
“Shareholder counsel.”
He stopped.
The elevator ride to the boardroom felt like entering a past life.
Photographs lined the corridor.
Andrew at groundbreaking ceremonies.
Andrew receiving awards.
Andrew shaking hands.
Andrew.
Andrew.
Andrew.
One framed article read:
THE VISIONARY WHO BUILT MERCER DEVELOPMENT FROM NOTHING.
I nearly stopped.
From nothing?
No.
He built it from my ideas, Dad’s property and apparently somebody else’s signatures.
Inside the boardroom sat seven people.
Andrew at the head.
Vanessa beside the wall.
She looked expensive and terrified.
Andrew stood.
“You can’t be here.”
Jennifer placed documents on the table.
“My client is asserting her right to attend as a twenty-percent shareholder.”
Board member Thomas Reed frowned.
“Andrew told us Claire transferred her shares.”
“That transfer is disputed as fraudulent.”
Every face turned toward Andrew.
Vanessa looked down.
Andrew laughed.
“This is a divorce tactic.”
Jennifer slid copies around the table.
“Then perhaps Mr. Mercer can explain why the purported transfer was notarized by Ms. Cole while Mrs. Mercer was hospitalized thirty miles away.”
Nobody spoke.
Thomas picked up the document.
“Vanessa?”
She swallowed.
“I don’t remember every notarization I performed three years ago.”
Jennifer handed him another page.
“This is the notary log.”
Vanessa looked up sharply.
Marcus had obtained it from state records.
The entry for my supposed signature showed no identification information.
No document description.
No physical location.
Nothing required.
Thomas looked at Andrew.
“What is happening?”
Andrew’s composure cracked.
“Nothing. Claire and her father are weaponizing technicalities because our marriage failed.”
I finally spoke.
“You forged my shares away while I was pregnant.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vanessa notarized it.”
“Ask her.”
I turned.
Vanessa’s eyes widened.
“Did you watch me sign that document?”
She looked at Andrew.
Wrong move.
Everyone noticed.
“I don’t recall.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Her face hardened.
“You’ve spent years pretending to be involved in this company, Claire. You weren’t.”
I stared at her.
“So you don’t remember notarizing the transfer, but you remember my contribution?”
“You attended parties.”
I smiled.
Andrew had used the same line.
Interesting.
Board member Caroline Liu opened a tablet.
“Actually, Claire wrote the original Eastern Corridor proposal.”
Andrew turned.
“What?”
Caroline looked at me.
“I remember. You presented it to us before Andrew joined the meeting.”
I had forgotten she was there.
Caroline continued.
“And the Richmond redevelopment model.”
“Yes.”
“And the Hanover municipal bid.”
“Yes.”
She looked at Andrew.
“You told us those were your strategies.”
Andrew’s face flushed.
“I refined them.”
Caroline’s eyebrows rose.
I said nothing.
I didn’t need to.
Then the company’s general counsel entered.
He whispered something to Thomas.
Thomas went pale.
“What?”
The attorney hesitated.
“The Arlington lender has accelerated its review. They’re requesting full documentation on all representations concerning the Bennett estate.”
Andrew stood.
“That’s privileged.”
“Not from the lender.”
“They don’t have the right—”
“They do under the loan agreement.”
Andrew slammed his palm onto the table.
“Then give it to them.”
The attorney didn’t move.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“The bank found an undisclosed wire.”
Silence.
“What wire?”
“$1.7 million from Mercer Development to Cole Strategic Advisory nine months ago.”
Vanessa’s face changed.
Andrew stared at her.
“That payment was approved.”
The attorney shook his head.
“There is no board authorization.”
Thomas looked between them.
“Why did we pay Vanessa’s private company $1.7 million?”
Vanessa stood.
“Consulting.”
“For what?”
“Strategic communications.”
Caroline almost laughed.
“We employ an entire communications department.”
Vanessa looked at Andrew.
Again.
That glance said more than any confession.
Thomas closed his folder.
“Andrew, step outside.”
“I’m CEO.”
“And I’m board chair.”
“You cannot remove me from my own meeting.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“If Claire’s shares are valid, you don’t control enough votes to prevent an emergency suspension.”
Andrew froze.
For years, ownership had been his shield.
Suddenly it wasn’t.
He looked at me.
“You planned this.”
“No.”
“You’ve been waiting for this.”
“I learned I still owned shares yesterday.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
I stood.
“I spent seven years believing you.”
His face tightened.
“Biggest mistake I ever made.”
Then I walked out.
Behind me the boardroom erupted.
Two hours later, Andrew Mercer was temporarily suspended as CEO pending an internal financial investigation.
Vanessa was placed on administrative leave.
The company’s accounts above $50,000 required dual authorization.
And my twenty-percent ownership interest was provisionally recognized until a court determined whether the transfer was valid.
At 3:00 p.m., the signature examiner called.
His preliminary conclusion:
The signature had likely been traced from another document.
Not merely forged.
Traced.
Someone had taken my real signature and copied it.
Marcus found the likely source before dinner.
My prenatal insurance authorization.
The one Andrew had asked me to sign at home several days before my hospitalization.
The same signature shape.
The same slight ink irregularity.
Dad looked at both documents side by side.
“They used your medical paperwork.”
I felt nauseated.
“Can we prove who?”
“Eventually.”
At 7:30, Vanessa called.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
Her voice shook.
“Claire?”
“What?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Call my lawyer.”
“No.”
I heard a car door slam.
Wind.
She was outside somewhere.
“Andrew lied to me.”
I closed my eyes.
“I am not the person you call about Andrew lying.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“He said you agreed to transfer the shares.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“You notarized it.”
Silence.
“I didn’t know the signature was forged.”
“You certified you watched me sign.”
“He told me—”
“I don’t care.”
She began crying.
I felt nothing.
Then she said something that changed everything.
“Andrew is going to destroy the records.”
I sat upright.
“What?”
“He called me ten minutes ago. He said if the board gets the server archive, we’re both finished.”
“Where is he?”
“The estate.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Why?”
“There’s a backup drive in the home office.”
I was already waving to Dad.
He came over.
I put the call on speaker.
Vanessa continued.
“Andrew kept copies of everything there because he didn’t trust cloud storage.”
Dad grabbed his phone.
“Claire, do not go there.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
He called the sheriff.
Marcus called company counsel.
The estate belonged to Dad’s trust.
Andrew still had occupancy rights until January second.
But destroying corporate evidence subject to preservation orders was another matter.
Twenty minutes later, deputies arrived.
Andrew wasn’t there.
The home office was empty.
So was the backup drive.
Security footage showed him leaving fourteen minutes before law enforcement arrived.
He carried a black equipment case.
Andrew knew we were coming.
Someone had warned him.
Vanessa insisted it wasn’t her.
I didn’t know whether to believe her.
Then Dad’s property manager called.
“There’s something strange.”
“What?”
“The estate’s south garage camera recorded another vehicle leaving three minutes after Mr. Mercer.”
“Whose?”
“A black Range Rover.”
Mine.
The vehicle Andrew had taken Christmas Eve.
The driver wasn’t Andrew.
It was Patricia.
And Vanessa was sitting in the passenger seat.
I stared at the screenshot.
Vanessa was supposedly on the phone with me from somewhere else at exactly that time.
Which meant she had lied.
Again.
But the image contained an even bigger problem.
Between Vanessa and Patricia sat the black equipment case containing Mercer Development’s missing records.
May you like
The two women who appeared to hate each other were working together.
And suddenly I wondered whether Andrew was the mastermind at all.
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