Chapter 2 - The Delivery
Monica did not deny delivering the folder.
She denied knowing what was inside it.
“That sounds convenient,” Malcolm said.
They had moved from the living room into Isaiah’s library while Ella sat with Danielle in the breakfast room.
Preston had insisted the child be removed from the argument.
Grant had insisted the meeting continue without police.
That disagreement alone made Preston suspicious.
Monica stood beside Isaiah’s mahogany desk, arms crossed.
“Dad called me three days before he died,” she said. “He told me there was an envelope on the console outside his bedroom. He told me to take it to Preston.”
“And you didn’t open it?” Malcolm asked.
“No.”
Grant leaned against the bookcase.
“My wife had no reason to open privileged legal documents.”
Malcolm gave him a cold look.
“Your wife apparently receives control of a company worth more than two hundred million dollars under those documents.”
“Malcolm,” Monica snapped.
Preston opened his briefcase and removed a photocopy.
“The courier log from my office records Monica delivering Isaiah’s leather folder at 11:14 a.m. on Monday.”
Monica nodded.
“That’s correct.”
“The cover letter inside was typed on Bennett House stationery.”
“So?”
Preston slid the page onto the desk.
“So Isaiah never used this font.”
Nobody answered.
Preston pointed to the bottom.
“And this signature is a scanned reproduction.”
Grant stepped forward.
“You can tell that by looking?”
“I can tell because I have the original signature this scan came from.”
That silenced him.
Preston opened another file.
“Six years ago, Isaiah signed a letter terminating a contractor. Same pen angle. Same microscopic break in the second ‘a.’ Whoever created this cover letter copied that signature.”
Monica looked toward Grant.
Grant noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Preston did not miss it.
“Monica, why did you react when Ella said Isaiah spoke to her the night before he died?”
Monica hesitated.
“My father and I had an argument that evening.”
“About what?”
“Family.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the answer I’m giving.”
Grant touched her arm.
“You don’t have to submit to an interrogation.”
Preston stared at him.
“I’m not interrogating her.”
“No?”
“No. I’m trying to determine whether the document I nearly presented to a probate court is forged.”
Vivian Pierce stood near the window.
“Isaiah changed his mind often toward the end.”
Danielle turned.
“He changed investment strategies. He did not change his principles.”
Vivian’s mouth tightened.
“The dead become saints remarkably fast.”
Malcolm looked toward Preston.
“What did the previous will say?”
Preston paused.
Attorney-client confidentiality generally survived death in many contexts, but administration of the estate required clarity.
“The last will I personally prepared for Isaiah was executed fourteen months ago.”
Monica’s eyes shifted.
Preston continued.
“It gave Monica twenty percent of his voting shares.”
Malcolm received ten.
Danielle five.
Several charitable trusts received interests.
“And Ella?” Malcolm asked.
Preston looked at the closed library door.
“Thirty percent, held in trust.”
Monica whispered, “Thirty?”
Grant straightened.
“That still doesn’t equal controlling interest.”
“No,” Preston said. “Because Isaiah retained a separate block of fifteen percent designated for an independent stewardship trust.”
Danielle understood first.
“Which meant no individual family member could control the company.”
“Exactly.”
Grant walked toward the fireplace.
“So the alleged new will simplifies the company.”
“It concentrates it,” Preston corrected.
“In Monica. His daughter.”
“In Monica as executor and majority voting owner.”
Monica looked sick.
Preston studied her.
“You didn’t know.”
Grant turned.
“Of course she knew. You read it ten minutes ago.”
“No,” Preston said quietly. “I mean she didn’t know before today.”
Monica looked at him.
Preston had known her since she was twenty-six. He had seen her angry, arrogant, grieving, drunk once at her brother’s funeral, and terrified when Ella disappeared for six minutes at a charity picnic.
The expression on her face now was genuine shock.
That did not make her innocent.
But it changed something.
Danielle entered from the hallway.
“Ella remembered something else.”
Everyone turned.
Preston’s pulse quickened.
“What?”
“She said Isaiah told her not to trust ‘the paper with the blue mark.’”
Grant frowned.
“What blue mark?”
Preston opened the disputed will.
He examined page one.
Nothing.
Page two.
Nothing.
Then page fourteen.
At the bottom, beside Isaiah’s purported signature, was a small blue crescent.
Preston stared.
Malcolm leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Preston knew.
It was the digital certification stamp used by Bennett Meridian’s executive document system.
A system accessible to only five senior officers.
Isaiah.
Monica.
Malcolm.
Grant.
And the company’s corporate secretary.
One of those five had created the page.
May you like
One was dead.
And the remaining four had all been inside the mansion that morning.
