Chapter 7 - THE LAND BESIDE MY WAREHOUSE
The good news was simple.
We had not bought the expansion site yet.
The bad news:
Margaret’s option sat on the only parcel providing easy truck access from the north road.
Without it, construction became more expensive.
Had she committed a crime by buying land after hearing about our plans?
Not automatically.
Was it an outrageous conflict?
Absolutely.
Then Priya discovered the seller had been told something else.
“Margaret said Emberline had already approved purchasing her parcel after she acquired it.”
False.
The seller believed Margaret was essentially acting as an intermediary for us.
That could matter.
Our attorneys stepped in.
We did not threaten.
We clarified.
The seller became angry.
At Margaret.
He had agreed to a low option price because he thought a final Emberline transaction was likely.
Then he exercised a termination right tied to misrepresentation.
Margaret lost the option.
No lawsuit.
No dramatic auction.
Just the deal collapsing because she had overstated her authority.
Emberline negotiated directly with the owner afterward.
Fair market price.
Lower than Margaret planned to demand.
Then Daniel came to see me.
Public café.
I had required it.
He looked thinner.
“I resigned from Hale Hospitality.”
Good.
“And transferred my thirty percent back to Mom and Vanessa.”
I frowned.
“Why Vanessa?”
“She won’t take it.”
Also good.
“Then what happens?”
“Mom can keep it or dissolve the company.”
Not my problem.
Then Daniel placed a check on the table.
$38,000.
“What is that?”
“My half of what we can recover immediately from the joint money I sent Mom.”
I pushed it back.
“We’ll account for marital money properly.”
He nodded.
“I thought you’d say that.”
No grand gestures.
Good.
Then:
“I started therapy.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“Why I keep choosing temporary peace over telling the truth.”
That was more promising than:
To get you back.
Then he said:
“I need to tell you the worst thing.”
My body stiffened.
“There’s more?”
“Yes.”
Three weeks before the birthday, Margaret asked Daniel for Emberline’s current balance sheet.
He refused.
Good.
Then she asked for our tax return.
He gave it.
My jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“She said the lender needed to verify my household finances.”
“Our tax return contains Emberline pass-through information.”
“I know.”
“Now.”
“Yes.”
The return gave Margaret enough data to estimate:
Revenue.
Income.
Ownership structure.
My personal distributions.
That was how Vanessa knew the company was worth close to nine million.
Daniel had supplied the map.
Then he said:
“I also gave her your signature page.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
Not intentionally for forgery.
He had scanned our jointly filed return.
My electronic signature page was included.
Did Margaret use it?
We did not know.
Until Rachel called.
North River had produced another draft.
A personal net-worth certification supposedly signed by me.
The signature matched my tax return.
Same digital artifact.
Same compression mark.
Someone had copied it.
Who uploaded the document?
Not Margaret.
Not Vanessa.
An email account belonging to Daniel.
He went white.
“I didn’t send that.”
For once, I believed him immediately.
Because the timestamp was 2:13 a.m.
On a night Daniel and I had been together in Baltimore.
Someone else had access to his email.
May you like
And only one family member had been staying in our house that weekend.
Margaret.
