Chapter 12 - Derek’s CounterattackAllison read Stoneharbor’s letter three times.
Derek had told the buyer she was experiencing “emerging memory and decision-making issues” and planned to transition management authority.
No doctor was named.
No diagnosis attached.
But the implication was clear.
If Allison challenged the forged consent later, Derek intended to explain inconsistency as illness.
It was grotesque.
It was also clever.
“He was building an excuse,” Mara said.
“For forging me?”
“For claiming you authorized something and forgot.”
Camille looked horrified.
“He told me Allison was burned out.”
“He told Stoneharbor I was losing my mind.”
Owen closed his laptop.
“This changes the risk picture.”
Allison’s phone buzzed.
Her banking app.
A transfer alert.
$95,000 had moved from the joint marital savings account.
To an account ending in numbers Allison did not recognize.
She called the bank immediately.
The representative confirmed Derek was a joint owner and had authority to transfer funds.
The money could not simply be reversed.
Allison felt fury rise.
Mara held up a hand.
“Document it.”
“He’s stealing from me in real time.”
“He may legally access the joint account. Whether moving the money is marital dissipation is another question.”
“Can we stop him?”
“We file.”
By 5:00 p.m., Allison had retained divorce counsel.
By the next morning, emergency motions were being prepared to preserve marital assets and prohibit extraordinary transfers.
Derek responded with his own lawyer.
And his own story.
He accused Allison of abusing her authority at Grant Medical Properties.
He alleged that she had locked him out of systems to conceal mismanagement.
He claimed Alder Row performed legitimate consulting work.
He described the money transferred to Camille’s company as payments for “space-planning analysis.”
Camille almost laughed when her attorney read it aloud.
“My company never performed anything for Grant.”
“That helps,” Mara said.
Derek also denied forging Allison’s signature.
He claimed she signed the consent at home.
Allison stared at the statement.
“He thinks I won’t be able to prove otherwise.”
Owen spoke from across the room.
“He’s wrong.”
The document metadata showed creation on Derek’s laptop.
But that alone did not prove he placed the signature.
Then Owen found the image file.
A scanned signature lifted from an old insurance form Allison signed three years earlier.
The shape matched the forged consent exactly.
Every microscopic wobble.
Every ink contour.
Except the image had been digitally cleaned.
Derek had not imitated her signature.
He had copied one.
Mara looked grim.
“That’s much stronger.”
Allison’s divorce attorney obtained a temporary order limiting unusual transfers from certain marital accounts.
It did not restore the $95,000.
Not yet.
Derek called that evening.
Allison answered only because her lawyer had advised her to avoid discussing money or evidence and preserve communications.
“Are you proud of yourself?” Derek asked.
Allison stood in the dark kitchen of the house they had shared.
“For what?”
“You made this public.”
“You took our marriage into a hospital room with my sister.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“You froze me out of the company I helped build.”
“My father built it.”
“I modernized it.”
“And invoiced it.”
Silence.
Derek’s voice turned cold.
“You think Camille is going to save you?”
“No.”
“She’ll save herself.”
“I expect her to try.”
“You always did think you were better than her.”
Allison closed her eyes.
There it was.
The wedge.
The same one he had used on Camille.
“No,” she said. “I thought I was responsible for her.”
“Same thing.”
For a moment, Allison wondered whether he was right.
She had paid Camille’s bills.
Fixed crises.
Advised her career.
Defended her to their father.
Had she loved her sister while also making her feel permanently younger?
The thought hurt because it contained some truth.
But truth did not erase choice.
Derek continued.
“Your father understood power. You never did.”
“You mean he understood you.”
“He was scared of me.”
“He was disappointed in you.”
Derek went silent.
Allison knew she had hit something.
Then he laughed quietly.
“Ask yourself why Thomas never told you.”
The line disconnected.
Allison remained in the dark.
That question stayed.
Why hadn’t her father warned her directly?
The answer arrived the next morning.
Helen called.
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“The week before Thomas died, he asked Derek to come to his office.”
Allison gripped the phone.
May you like
“Why?”
“He was going to fire him.”
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