Chapter 15
She pulled her hand back and smoothed her apron with both hands, stepping away into the darkness of the room.
The quiet in the private suite did not last past seven the next morning.
The heavy oak door swung back, and the smell of damp wool came in with Robert Gable, our family attorney for twenty years. Anthony was right behind him, his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum.
They did not look at me. To them, I was just a shape under the white sheet, a piece of furniture that breathed.
Robert set his leather briefcase on the overbed table with a heavy thud. He unzipped it and pulled out a stack of high-grade bond paper.
“The offshore accounts are governed by the 2012 trust covenant, Anthony,” Robert said, his voice slow and dry. “Without Dominic’s physical signature on the amendment, the automatic transfer of the twenty-four million dollars triggers on Friday morning at nine.”
Anthony checked his gold wristwatch, the metal glinting in the pale dawn light. “We have less than ninety-six hours. There has to be a workaround.”
“The bank in Zurich requires a wet signature, notarized,” Robert said. He tapped a yellow legal pad with his fountain pen. “Or a certified power of attorney. If he remains unresponsive, the assets lock into the secondary trust, and we cannot touch them for five years.”
“Then we sign it for him,” Anthony said.
I kept my eyes shut, but my mind went cold. My cousin was talking about forgery as if he were ordering lunch.
May you like
Robert stopped tapping his pen. “That is a federal offense, Anthony. I am the trustee of record. If the audit committee flags the signature, my firm is finished.”
“Nobody is auditing a private family trust after a tragic accident,” Anthony said, his voice rising, fast and sharp. “We use the signature style from the 2018 corporate restructuring. You have the digital scans in your office vault.”
