Chapter 4 - The SignatureBy 2:15 that afternoon, Allison was inside the conference room at Grant Medical Properties’ headquarters.
She had not gone home.
She had not called Derek again.
And she had not called Camille.
Mara Feld sat across from her with a laptop open.
Beside Mara was Owen Price, the forensic accountant she had recommended.
Owen was in his early forties, quiet, precise, and irritatingly calm.
Allison appreciated him immediately.
“First rule,” he said, “we preserve before we accuse.”
“I already accused my husband of adultery.”
“I’m talking about money.”
Mara gave Allison a sympathetic look.
Owen continued.
“We’ve disabled Derek’s remote administrative access. We have not deleted anything. His company email, accounting permissions, and shared-drive access are preserved.”
“Can he move money?”
“Not from company accounts now.”
“Personal accounts?”
Mara answered. “Possibly. We’ll deal with that separately.”
Owen rotated the laptop.
“Here’s Alder Row.”
Payments began fourteen months earlier.
$18,500.
$32,000.
$47,800.
Then larger transfers.
By the time Owen reached the total, Allison’s hands had gone numb.
“Six hundred twelve thousand four hundred dollars,” he said.
Mara exhaled.
“For consulting services?”
“That’s what the invoices say.”
Allison leaned closer.
“What services?”
“Strategic asset analysis. Vendor optimization. Market positioning.”
“We have firms for all of those things.”
“Exactly.”
“Did Derek approve them?”
“Yes.”
“Could he?”
“Under the authority your board delegated after your father died, he could approve ordinary operating contracts up to seventy-five thousand.”
Allison understood immediately.
“He split the invoices.”
Owen nodded.
“Almost every payment falls below the approval threshold.”
Mara added, “That pattern matters.”
Allison stared at the screen.
“Where did the money go?”
“We’re still tracing it.”
Owen clicked to another file.
“But I found something else.”
The forged refinancing consent appeared.
The same one Allison had taken from the hospital.
Except this copy contained metadata.
Owen pointed.
“Created on Derek’s company laptop twelve days ago.”
Mara leaned forward.
“Modified?”
“Yesterday.”
Allison frowned.
“Yesterday he was admitted to the hospital.”
“Correct.”
“From where?”
Owen looked at her.
“A login from the hospital network.”
Allison felt sick.
Derek had been preparing the document from his private room.
With Camille there.
Mara said, “This doesn’t mean he could actually close a refinancing with a forged signature.”
“Why not?”
“The operating agreement requires notarized member consent for debt secured by real property.”
Allison remembered something.
“Camille is a notary.”
Mara’s face changed.
Allison’s sister had obtained her notary commission two years earlier when her interior-design business began handling commercial contracts.
Owen clicked another attachment.
A notarial certificate.
Camille Grant’s name appeared at the bottom.
Allison stood so abruptly that her chair rolled backward.
“No.”
Mara rose too.
“Don’t assume she completed it.”
“The form is filled out.”
“The stamp isn’t visible.”
Owen enlarged the scan.
There was no seal.
No commission number.
Just Camille’s typed name.
“It looks unfinished,” he said.
Allison stared at it.
“Because I walked into the hospital?”
Nobody answered.
Her phone began ringing.
Derek.
She declined it.
He called again.
Declined.
Then Camille.
Allison stared at her sister’s name.
Mara said, “You don’t have to answer.”
Allison did.
“What?”
Camille was crying.
“I didn’t stamp anything.”
Allison said nothing.
“I swear.”
“You typed your name.”
“Derek prepared it.”
“And you were going to notarize my forged signature?”
“I thought you signed it already.”
“You can’t notarize a signature you didn’t witness.”
“I know.”
“Then why were you involved?”
Camille’s breathing became uneven.
“Because he said if the refinance didn’t happen, everything would come out.”
Allison closed her eyes.
“What would come out?”
“The money.”
“What money did you take?”
Silence.
“Camille.”
“A hundred eighty thousand.”
Mara looked at Owen.
Owen immediately began typing.
Allison gripped the edge of the table.
“You took one hundred eighty thousand dollars from our company?”
“I thought some of it was mine.”
“Some?”
“I knew the invoices weren’t real.”
There it was.
Not innocence.
Not confusion.
Choice.
Camille continued through sobs.
“Derek said we would put it back after Wellington closed.”
“What closing?”
Camille went silent.
Allison’s pulse hammered.
“What closing, Camille?”
“The sale.”
Allison looked at Mara.
Mara shook her head in confusion.
“What sale?”
Camille whispered, “Wellington Medical Plaza.”
Allison’s largest family asset.
The building her father had refused to sell even when developers offered millions above market.
Allison felt suddenly weightless.
“We aren’t selling Wellington.”
May you like
Camille answered with five words.
“Derek already found a buyer.”
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