Chapter 6 - G27
G27 Holdings existed almost nowhere.
A Delaware registration.
A Virginia mailing address at a commercial mailbox.
No public website.
No employees.
No obvious directors.
But money flowed through it.
Over eighteen months, Bennett Meridian had sent nearly thirty-one million dollars into projects connected to Northstar Urban Partners.
At least twelve million ultimately reached G27.
Malcolm discovered it by reconstructing transaction histories from archived bank records.
“This wasn’t one theft,” he said.
They met in Preston’s office rather than Bennett House.
“This was a system.”
Monica sat at the conference table, pale.
Grant was not present.
She had told him she was meeting a therapist.
The lie frightened her less than telling him the truth.
Malcolm projected a spreadsheet onto the wall.
“Inflated contractor invoices. Consulting fees. Acquisition deposits. Every payment was just legitimate enough to avoid automated fraud review.”
Preston looked at Monica.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Your $1.8 million?”
She swallowed.
“Grant told me Northstar needed a temporary capital bridge. He said Dad had become impossible about new investments. He told me if I moved the money quietly, he could return it before quarterly reporting.”
“Why did you trust him?”
Monica stared at Preston.
“He’s my husband.”
No one answered.
Malcolm changed slides.
“Someone also accessed my approval credentials seven times.”
“From where?” Preston asked.
“Three times from headquarters. Twice remotely. Twice from Bennett House.”
“Could Grant do that?”
“If he had my authentication token.”
“Did he?”
“I keep the backup in my office.”
Monica closed her eyes.
“Grant knows your office code.”
Malcolm stared at her.
“How?”
“He used it once during a board retreat. You told him.”
Malcolm remembered.
His expression hardened.
Preston said, “This still isn’t proof.”
“It’s motive,” Monica whispered.
“Yes.”
“For the fake will?”
“For everything.”
Monica stood abruptly.
“I need air.”
She walked to the window.
Preston watched her.
“Monica, why was your father angry with you the night before he died?”
“I told you.”
“You told me about the money.”
“That was why.”
“I don’t think so.”
She turned.
Preston knew because Isaiah had been ruthless with dishonesty but oddly gentle with confession.
If Monica had admitted the $1.8 million herself, Isaiah might have been furious.
But not frightened.
Ella remembered him as frightened.
“What else?”
Monica’s eyes filled.
“He told me Grant was dangerous.”
Nobody moved.
“What exactly did he say?” Preston asked.
“He said, ‘You married a man who mistakes access for ownership.’”
Malcolm looked down.
Monica continued.
“I accused Dad of trying to control my marriage. We screamed at each other.”
“Did Grant hear you?”
“He was downstairs.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She looked away.
“Yes.”
Preston leaned forward.
“Then Grant knew Isaiah suspected him.”
“Yes.”
“And Isaiah died the next morning.”
Monica’s face changed.
“No.”
“His death was ruled natural.”
“Then don’t say it like that.”
“I’m not accusing Grant of murder.”
“You were about to.”
“No. I’m establishing timeline.”
She gripped the chair.
“My father had advanced heart disease. He had a cardiac arrest. The medical examiner found nothing suspicious.”
Preston nodded.
He believed that.
This was not necessarily a murder mystery.
It was a theft carried out around a death someone had expected eventually.
Perhaps Grant had been preparing for Isaiah to die.
The fake will might have been insurance.
Malcolm suddenly turned his laptop around.
“I found G27’s original incorporation agent.”
Preston read the name.
Harbor Corporate Services.
“Useful?”
“They keep formation records under subpoena.”
Preston nodded.
Monica looked toward the door.
“Grant will know we’re investigating.”
“How?”
“He notices everything.”
Her phone vibrated.
She stared at the screen.
A text from Grant.
How was therapy?
A second message appeared.
Ask Preston whether he found G27 yet.
Nobody spoke.
Monica’s hand began to tremble.
A third message came.
Then ask him if Ella knows what 18-4-86 means.
Preston stood.
Grant knew about the photograph.
Only five people had been in the room when Ella opened the envelope.
One of them had told him.
Or Grant had been listening.
Monica looked terrified.
Then her phone rang.
Grant.
She did not answer.
The voicemail arrived fifteen seconds later.
Monica played it on speaker.
Grant’s voice was calm.
“Come home, sweetheart. We need to discuss what your father actually left behind.”
The message ended.
Malcolm whispered, “He knows where the real will is.”
Monica shook her head.
“No.”
Preston looked at her.
“You sound certain.”
She slowly sat down.
“Because last night,” she said, “I searched Grant’s closet.”
May you like
Everyone stared.
“And I found something my father owned.”
