Chapter 16 - The First Forgery
Harold Miller agreed to meet with Detective Kowalski the next morning.
He didn’t have much choice.
His deferred prosecution agreement required cooperation, and the moment investigators mentioned Gavin Mercer, Harold reportedly went gray.
Aunt Lorraine and I were not allowed inside the formal interview.
Rachel was.
She emerged two hours later holding a legal pad covered in notes.
We met in a courthouse café.
“Well?” Lorraine demanded.
Rachel sat down.
“Harold confirmed it.”
My stomach tightened.
“Gavin was involved in Grandpa’s trust?”
“Indirectly.”
Rachel explained.
Ten years earlier, after Grandpa Arthur’s property sold, my father had panicked when he realized the trust terms prevented him from simply handing Derek all the money.
Richard went to Harold for help.
Harold introduced him to a young financial consultant.
Gavin Mercer.
At the time, Gavin worked for a private lending firm in Philadelphia.
He told Richard he could structure transfers so they appeared to be legitimate family investments.
My stolen trust fund hadn’t simply been handed from my father to Derek.
Some of it had moved through shell companies.
Companies connected to Gavin.
“How much?” I asked.
Rachel turned the page.
“At least two hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
I stared at her.
“Gavin took part of my inheritance?”
“Possibly as fees. Possibly as kickbacks.”
Lorraine’s face hardened.
“That means the original recovery wasn’t complete.”
“We recovered what Richard and Evelyn could repay.”
“But there may be more.”
“Yes.”
I looked out the café window.
For years, I had thought my parents were the entire monster.
Now I was realizing they had invited another predator into the house.
“What does Harold get for telling us this?”
Rachel gave me a meaningful look.
“He wants to stay out of prison.”
“Of course.”
“He also provided something useful.”
She slid a photocopy across the table.
A check.
Dated October 2017.
$85,000.
Payable to Mercer Financial Advisory.
Memo:
CONSULTING.
The account?
Arthur Brooks Testamentary Trust.
My trust.
My money.
I laughed bitterly.
“So Gavin stole from me before he ever met me.”
“Yes.”
Lorraine leaned forward.
“And now?”
“Now federal investigators are interested.”
That changed the room.
“Federal?” I asked.
“Wire transfers crossed state lines. Corporate entities were registered in Pennsylvania, Delaware, and New Jersey. Identity documents moved electronically.”
Rachel tapped the page.
“This is no longer just a civil case.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.
Hospital administration.
I answered.
“This is Hannah.”
My supervisor sounded uneasy.
“Hannah, are you at work today?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I sat straighter.
“Why?”
“A man came to the oncology floor asking for you.”
Lorraine’s eyes locked on mine.
“What man?”
“He said he was from an insurance company.”
“Name?”
“He wouldn’t give one.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did he look like?”
“Mid-forties. Dark suit. Gray coat.”
“Is he still there?”
“Security approached him and he left.”
Rachel was already signaling for me to end the call.
“Send me the security footage,” I said. “And please flag my name. Nobody gets my schedule.”
“We already did.”
I disconnected.
Lorraine stood.
“You’re staying with me.”
“I’m not abandoning my house.”
“You’re not abandoning anything. You’re avoiding an idiot with a suit.”
Rachel looked serious.
“Lorraine’s right.”
I hated that.
My cottage had been the symbol of everything I fought to reclaim.
The thought of being driven out, even temporarily, made me furious.
Then I remembered Chloe.
One shoe.
Hospital blanket.
Terrified.
Pride wasn’t worth becoming reckless.
“Fine.”
We returned to Lorraine’s house before dark.
At 8:17 p.m., Detective Kowalski called.
Security had pulled a clear image of the man at the hospital.
Police identified him.
His name was Thomas Venn.
Former private investigator.
Current employee of a corporate security firm.
That firm was owned by Gavin Mercer’s brother-in-law.
“Can you arrest him?” I asked.
“Not for asking for you.”
“What about stalking?”
“We’re building it.”
I hated those words.
Building it.
Waiting.
Documenting.
I understood why.
Still hated it.
Then Kowalski added something.
“We served Mercer Development with preservation orders this afternoon.”
“That sounds good.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
“Someone attempted to wipe one of their servers forty minutes later.”
My pulse jumped.
“Did they succeed?”
“No.”
Aunt Lorraine smiled.
Kowalski continued.
“And Hannah?”
“Yes?”
“We recovered an email sent from Gavin Mercer to Richard Brooks in 2017.”
I gripped my phone.
“What did it say?”
Kowalski paused.
“He wrote, ‘Your daughter will never know what was hers if everybody keeps their mouth shut.’”
I closed my eyes.
Ten years.
One sentence.
Everything I had suffered reduced to a business plan.
Then Kowalski said, “There’s more.”
“What?”
“Richard replied.”
I almost didn’t ask.
But I had to.
“What did my father say?”
Kowalski read it.
“Agreed. Hannah trusts us.”
For the first time since the investigation began, I cried.
Not because they fooled me.
Because I finally understood exactly what they had used as a weapon.
Not my signature.
May you like
Not my money.
My love.
