Chapter 5 - THE PERSON WATCHING MY DOCTOR’S OFFICE
Marcus wanted me moved into a hotel under private security.
I refused the hotel.
Accepted security.
Important distinction.
The house had better controlled access than most hotels anyway.
And I was done being pushed out of property because men became uncomfortable with my ownership.
A security team reviewed cameras.
The man who delivered the envelope had avoided showing his face.
But his vehicle appeared two blocks away.
Priya traced the license plate.
Rental.
Booked under an employee account.
Hale & Carter Contracting.
My company.
Authorized by:
Brooke Carter.
My stomach dropped.
I called her.
No answer.
Then Diane.
Nothing.
Caleb.
Voicemail.
Their resort reservation showed they had checked out early.
They were coming home.
Good.
Let them.
Then Marcus received a call from corporate counsel.
One of our supervisors had found unusual requests in company systems.
Someone had tried downloading:
Payroll files.
Employee addresses.
My executive calendar.
My insurance information.
And my maternity leave plan.
“Who?” I asked.
The login belonged to Caleb.
Of course.
But IP records placed the access in Miami, not Naples.
He had left the vacation early before telling anyone.
“What is he doing?”
Priya opened another document.
Life insurance.
My name.
Policyholder:
Hale & Carter Contracting.
Coverage:
$5 million.
My breathing stopped.
“Is that normal?”
“Key-person insurance can be normal for majority owners.”
“Did I know?”
“No.”
“Beneficiary?”
The company.
That could be legitimate.
Then she scrolled.
Contingent payout instruction had been amended one month ago.
If ownership changed after death, proceeds would follow the company’s controlling interest.
I understood.
If I died, my estate would inherit my shares initially.
Unless some agreement changed them.
“Is there a transfer agreement?”
Marcus’s face darkened.
“Possibly.”
He found it an hour later.
Buy-sell agreement.
Dated six weeks earlier.
My supposed signature.
Again forged.
If I died or became permanently incapacitated, my sixty-eight percent could be purchased by Caleb at a formula price far below current value.
The life-insurance proceeds would help finance that purchase.
My unborn daughter kicked hard.
I pressed a hand to my stomach.
“Is this proof he wants me dead?”
“No,” Marcus said firmly.
Good.
Facts.
“Then what is it?”
“Evidence someone prepared aggressively for a scenario in which you could not object.”
That was horrifying enough.
Then we discovered the witness.
Evan Pierce.
Again.
I called the police.
Not because I could prove an attempted crime against my life.
Because forged documents and financial fraud were crimes worth reporting now.
I would not wait until someone hurt me.
By evening, Caleb finally called.
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Did you call police?”
“Yes.”
“Claire, you’re blowing this up.”
“You forged my signature twice.”
“I did not.”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
“Brooke?”
“No.”
“Diane?”
“No.”
“Robert?”
Longer silence.
There.
“What did Robert do?”
Caleb swore.
“I told him not to.”
My pulse spiked.
“Told him not to what?”
“He said we needed leverage.”
“We?”
“The project investors.”
“What leverage?”
“Against you.”
I closed my eyes.
At least truth had finally entered the room.
“What did he forge?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
“He handled the mortgage paperwork.”
“And the buy-sell agreement?”
“I didn’t know about that.”
Maybe true.
Maybe not.
Then Caleb said:
“Claire, Robert is not stable.”
“What?”
“He lost money.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“Where?”
“Offshore investments. Gambling. Private loans.”
My uncle.
Again.
“He needed the Fort Lauderdale sale.”
“Yes.”
“So he used you.”
Caleb became quiet.
“Maybe.”
I almost laughed.
“You cheated me with the man cheating you.”
“Don’t.”
“No, that’s actually impressive.”
Then he whispered:
“He has access to the house.”
My blood went cold.
“No. Locks changed.”
“Not keys.”
“What then?”
“Old security override.”
My stomach tightened.
“From when?”
“Your grandmother gave it to him years ago.”
I looked toward the alarm panel.
Marcus was already calling security.
Then the system went dark.
Every light on the panel disappeared.
Power remained on.
Security did not.
A second later, someone knocked on the front door.
Three slow knocks.
My phone rang.
Robert.
I answered.
“Open the door, Claire.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“Because we need to discuss what belongs to family.”
I looked at Marcus.
He shook his head.
Robert continued.
“And because if police arrive before we talk, I’ll make sure they see documents proving every missing dollar was authorized by you.”
May you like
My uncle had not come to negotiate.
He had come to make me the criminal.
