Chapter 6 - The Notary Who Never Met Me
Rebecca Shaw agreed to meet us in a small law office in Naperville.
She was sixty-three now.
She had left the Vance Family Office five years earlier and worked part-time at a real estate agency.
When she entered the conference room, she looked at me for several seconds.
“You look like your father.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“He would have hated this.”
The comment surprised me.
“You knew him well?”
“I worked for your parents for twenty-one years.”
“Then you knew my mother well too.”
Rebecca looked toward Sophie.
“I assume this conversation is privileged?”
“No.”
Sophie answered directly.
“If you want your own attorney, you should have one.”
Rebecca nodded.
“I already spoke to one.”
She placed a folder on the table.
“I’m here voluntarily.”
Inside were copies of emails.
Most were six years old.
The first came from Daniel Keene.
REBECCA, MRS. VANCE NEEDS A NOTARIAL CERTIFICATE ADDED TO THE ATTACHED FAMILY DOCUMENT.
Rebecca looked at me.
“You were in London.”
“I know.”
“I told Daniel I could not notarize a signature I had not witnessed.”
“What happened?”
“He said Mrs. Vance wanted to speak with me.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“She came into my office herself.”
“What did she say?”
“That you had signed the agreement before leaving.”
“You hadn’t.”
“No.”
“But she said you had.”
I looked at Sophie.
Rebecca continued.
“She gave me a photocopy of a page carrying your signature.”
“The Savannah authorization?”
“I didn’t know the source.”
“What did you do?”
“I refused.”
My eyes moved to the forged agreement.
“Then why is your seal on it?”
“Because I made a mistake.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“My husband had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s.”
“My insurance came through the family office.”
“Eleanor reminded me.”
The room went quiet.
“She threatened your insurance?”
“She never used the word threatened.”
Rebecca gave a tired smile.
“Your mother rarely needed ugly words.”
“She said, ‘I would hate for an administrative review to create additional difficulties for your family right now.’”
I knew exactly how Eleanor spoke.
Polite.
Elegant.
Deadly.
Rebecca looked down.
“I stamped it.”
Sophie asked, “Did you sign the notarial certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing Marcus was not present?”
“Yes.”
“Did you keep copies of any instructions?”
“These.”
She pushed the emails forward.
“Why?”
“Because I knew what I had done was wrong.”
“Why didn’t you come forward?”
“I was afraid.”
I understood how much damage those three words had caused.
Everyone had been afraid of Eleanor.
Evelyn.
Rebecca.
Claire.
Employees.
Even me, although I had called my fear loyalty.
Rebecca reached deeper into the folder.
“There’s more.”
She produced a printed memo.
My name appeared in the subject line.
MARCUS/EVELYN CONTAINMENT PLAN.
I felt my stomach turn.
“What is that?”
“A meeting summary.”
“Who attended?”
Rebecca read the names.
“Eleanor Vance.”
“Daniel Keene.”
“Harrison Cole.”
“Peter Weller.”
“Andrew Vance.”
My cousin.
I looked at Sophie.
“Andrew knew everything.”
Rebecca nodded.
“More than Claire did.”
The memo described a strategy.
Remove Evelyn from Vance-connected contracts.
Restrict her access to Vance properties.
Redirect communications intended for me.
Monitor attempts to contact me.
Establish a private trust “to address future exposure.”
Exposure.
That was the word they used for my unborn children.
Evelyn read the line.
Her face changed.
She stood and walked out.
I followed.
She stopped in the empty hallway.
“Exposure.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
She pressed both hands against her face.
“My sons were babies.”
“I know.”
“They wrote about them like they were a lawsuit.”
“I know.”
“Noah had reflux so badly he barely slept.”
“Eli cried every evening for three months.”
“I walked circles around a tiny apartment holding one baby while the other screamed in a crib.”
“And your family was paying investigators to calculate exposure.”
I had no defense.
So I did the only useful thing.
I listened.
Evelyn lowered her hands.
“Do you understand why I hated you?”
“Yes.”
“I hated seeing your face in them.”
That hurt.
She immediately looked ashamed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I loved them more than anything.”
“But sometimes Noah would smile exactly like you.”
“And I would remember that document.”
I leaned against the opposite wall.
“You were allowed to hate me.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“I didn’t stop it.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“How?”
“I should have known my mother.”
Evelyn stared at me.
“That’s not fair either.”
“Maybe.”
“But I’m done accepting excuses because they are comfortable.”
We returned to the conference room.
Rebecca was crying quietly.
When she saw Evelyn, she stood.
“I’m sorry.”
Evelyn looked at her for several seconds.
“You helped them.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“You knew the document was false?”
“I knew Marcus had not signed it in front of me.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Rebecca lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Evelyn’s voice trembled.
“Then why should I forgive you?”
Rebecca did not defend herself.
“You shouldn’t.”
That answer seemed to surprise Evelyn.
Rebecca continued.
“I told myself I was protecting my husband.”
“I told myself Eleanor would find someone else if I refused.”
“I told myself one notarization could not determine anyone’s life.”
“I was wrong.”
She pushed the folder toward Evelyn.
“These are yours now.”
Sophie intervened.
“We’ll make evidentiary copies.”
Rebecca nodded.
“There is one thing I never understood.”
“What?”
“The trust.”
I leaned forward.
“What about it?”
“Harrison created it.”
“Why?”
“Eleanor said it was to protect Marcus from future claims.”
“What did it actually do?”
“I only saw one internal ledger.”
“And?”
Rebecca looked at Evelyn.
“It wasn’t only paying investigators.”
My pulse quickened.
“What else?”
“Annual transfers went somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand dollars each year.”
Evelyn frowned.
“I never received anything.”
Rebecca nodded.
“That is why I remembered.”
“Because the ledger described the payments as support for E.H. dependents.”
E.H.
Evelyn Hart.
Dependents.
My sons.
Someone had been moving money in their names.
For six years.
Sophie closed the folder.
“Then we’re no longer looking at one forged document.”
“What are we looking at?”
She met my eyes.
“Potentially a much larger fraud.”
My phone rang.
Andrew.
I answered this time.
“Marcus, we need to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Privately.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You had six years of privacy.”
May you like
I looked at the memo containing his name.
“You don’t get any more.”
