Chapter 3 - The Uncle’s Confession
At 7:45 AM, Arthur Ashworth walked into the forensic lab carrying two travel mugs of black coffee and a thick manila folder.
Beside him walked Marcus Stone, a sharp-eyed deputy district attorney with rolled-up sleeves and an iPad tucked under his arm.
"Let’s see the trace," Arthur said, setting the coffee on my desk without a greeting.
I clicked the mouse, bringing up the split-screen comparison of the forged signature against my authentic exemplars.
Marcus Stone leaned over the monitor, whistling softly as he reviewed the micro-tremors along the ink path.
"Class-three felony forgery under California penal code four hundred seventy," Marcus noted, his voice flat and analytical. "Conspiracy to commit grand theft real property, and filing false instruments with a public office."
"There's more," I said, clicking to the next slide.
The screen displayed the title history of Hartwell Orchard, which I had just pulled from the state land registry.
"Diane didn't find this developer on her own," I explained, pointing to the preliminary escrow filing initiated three weeks ago. "The holding company purchasing the land is registered under the name Pacific Crest Holdings LLC."
Arthur squinted at the screen. "Who is the registered agent?"
"Gerald Hartwell," I whispered, the words feeling like a physical blow to my ribs.
My uncle.
The man who had introduced me to Tyler at the Labor Day barbecue, who had called me kiddo, who had hugged me at my father’s grave.
Marcus Stone touched his chin, frowning deeply. "Your uncle was an authorized co-trustee on your grandmother’s estate until her death eighteen months ago."
"Gerald tried to convince Grandma to sell the orchard to commercial wine growers back in 2018," I said, remembering the heated arguments over the kitchen table. "Grandma refused. She rewrote her trust, cutting Gerald out completely and leaving the entire forty-one acres to me under a sole generational deed."
"So Gerald partnered with Tyler and Diane," Arthur concluded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tyler courts you, secures your trust, and uses the wedding to execute the sale through a forged power of attorney. Gerald gets his cut, Diane gets her commission, and you're left holding the bag after the bulldozers arrive."
My phone buzzed on the desk.
It was a text from Tyler: Morning, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle in that dress. Counting down the hours.
Right below it was a message from Brooke: Hey girl! Florist is heading to the orchard now. Let me know when you want me to come over and do your hair! Love you!
I looked at the messages, feeling a cold, dark smile touch the corners of my mouth.
May you like
"Marcus," I said, looking up at the prosecutor. "How quickly can you assemble a tactical white-collar enforcement unit?"
"For an active seven-million-dollar grand theft caught in the act?" Marcus smiled, his teeth flashing like steel. "They can be in Sebastopol by four o'clock."
