Chapter 8 - THE DEAL ETHAN SWEARS HE NEVER SIGNED
There was a purchase option.
It had Ethan’s signature.
Again.
He said it was forged.
Again.
At some point, hearing your husband say I didn’t sign that stops being comforting.
Even when it might be true.
The option agreement gave Hale Strategic Partners the right to sell access rights to my lake property after acquisition.
But the language assumed the company would obtain ownership.
Which only happened if I transferred the property.
Exactly what Ethan had asked me to do.
I looked at him across Laura’s conference table.
“Did Richard convince you to approach me?”
“No.”
“Tessa?”
“No.”
“Then why Lake Laurel?”
“I thought it was an asset sitting unused.”
My laugh came out sharp.
“Unused?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Ethan. I don’t.”
He leaned forward.
“I was trying to make the company viable.”
“With my property.”
“I thought putting my name on the deed made estate planning easier.”
“And the loan?”
“I knew about the credit line. I did not know your lake house was specifically pledged.”
Laura interrupted.
“Mr. Hale, who prepared the document package you gave Meredith?”
“My business attorney.”
“Name?”
“Charles Vane.”
Laura stopped writing.
“What?”
Ethan frowned.
“You know him?”
“No.”
But her face told me something.
She excused herself.
Returned ten minutes later.
“Charles Vane’s license was suspended four years ago.”
Ethan went pale.
“What?”
“He isn’t currently authorized to practice law in North Carolina.”
“That’s impossible.”
“How did you find him?”
“Tessa recommended him.”
Everyone looked at Tessa.
She shook her head.
“My father gave me the name.”
Of course.
Piece by piece, the structure became clear.
Richard used Tessa.
Tessa used Ethan’s ambition.
Ethan used my trust.
And Richard expected my signature to complete the chain.
Except I read the paperwork.
Apparently, no one planned for the fifty-year-old wife to read page two.
The environmental testing returned two days later.
Contamination existed.
But contained.
The drums were sealed.
No immediate threat to the lake.
The cleanup would still cost millions.
More importantly, whoever owned the parcel could potentially seek damages from successor entities connected to the old industrial company.
One of those successor companies had been absorbed decades earlier by Northbridge Field Systems.
My husband’s employer.
Suddenly everything connected.
Richard did not merely hate Northbridge.
He had been building a claim against it.
If Hale Strategic controlled my property, it could sue Northbridge over contamination.
Potential value:
tens of millions.
Northbridge’s general counsel explained it in one meeting.
“Your property is leverage.”
I almost laughed.
All these men.
All these companies.
And my mother’s little lake house had somehow become a weapon.
Ethan sat beside me.
He looked sick.
“I brought this into our house.”
I turned toward him.
“Yes.”
He did not defend himself.
“I’m sorry.”
It was not enough.
But it was finally the correct sentence.
Richard Wynn remained missing.
Police issued an arrest warrant after Calvin Reed identified him as the attacker.
Then Jacob called.
“Mom, I found something.”
“What?”
“I’ve been looking at Dad’s spoofed emails.”
“And?”
“They weren’t all spoofed externally.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Someone had access to the home network.”
My skin went cold.
“Could Richard?”
“Not unless he was inside the house.”
Ethan and I looked at each other.
Jacob continued.
“I checked your router logs from the backup account Dad gave me last year.”
I barely followed.
“Who accessed it?”
“There was a device connected repeatedly at night.”
“What device?”
“I can’t identify the model.”
“Who?”
“I traced the device name.”
Silence.
“Jacob?”
May you like
He sounded uneasy.
“Mom, it was labeled EMILY-IPAD.”
