Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Signed
Elaine Porter refused to speak over the phone.
She said she would meet only in person.
She also refused to come to Manhattan.
"Matthew has people there."
Thomas responded coldly.
"So does Harrison."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
My father took the phone.
"Ms. Porter."
Silence.
"Harrison Sterling?"
"Yes."
A bitter laugh came through the speaker.
"I wondered when you would finally appear."
My father's face changed.
"We have met."
"Oh, yes."
"When?"
"Ask your former partner."
"What former partner?"
Elaine disconnected.
Thomas stared at the phone.
My father looked genuinely confused.
That did not happen often.
"Who could she mean?"
I asked.
He did not answer immediately.
"Twenty years ago, Sterling Meridian had four founding partners."
"Three left."
"One died."
"Name?"
My father's jaw tightened.
"Jonathan Shaw."
Thomas looked up sharply.
I remembered the initials on nothing because I did not yet know Lauren had been communicating with J.S.
That connection would come later.
For now, Jonathan Shaw was simply a ghost from my father's past.
"He died?"
I asked.
"Supposedly."
The word made Thomas stare.
"Supposedly?"
My father stood.
"Car accident."
"When?"
"Sixteen years ago."
"Body?"
"Recovered."
"Confirmed?"
My father looked at him.
"At the time."
Thomas immediately began typing.
My mother shook her head.
"Please tell me we are not resurrecting dead business partners before breakfast."
Nobody laughed.
At 9:30 a.m., Detective Ortiz returned.
She carried an evidence receipt.
"The cane has been processed."
I looked away.
"We also obtained lobby footage from your building."
"Matthew leaving?"
"Yes."
"Any problems?"
"One."
My father straightened.
Ortiz looked at me.
"At 10:52 p.m., someone else entered your building."
"Who?"
She turned a tablet toward me.
The image showed a woman in a long beige coat.
Dark hair.
Large sunglasses despite the hour.
Her face was partly obscured.
But I recognized the handbag.
I had given it to Lauren for Christmas two years earlier.
"Lauren."
Ortiz nodded.
"She entered at ten fifty-two."
My skin prickled.
"Matthew came home at eleven?"
"Eleven eleven."
"Lauren was there first?"
"Apparently."
"I never saw her."
"She left through the service entrance at eleven fourteen."
Three minutes before the first strike.
I stared at the photograph.
"Why was she in my home?"
Ortiz watched my face.
"You tell me."
"I can't."
"Does she have access?"
"No."
"Could Matthew have given her access?"
"Yes."
"Did you have a safe?"
I went still.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Study."
"Contents?"
"Passports."
"Jewelry."
"Personal documents."
My father's expression darkened.
"Founder records?"
I looked at him.
"I don't know."
The study safe had been Matthew's idea.
I barely used it.
Ortiz closed the tablet.
"Our team found the safe open."
My pulse increased.
"Missing?"
"We can't know until you inventory it."
Thomas already had his phone out.
Ortiz continued.
"One more thing."
She swiped to a second image.
Lauren exiting the service corridor.
In her hand was a red folder.
My red folder.
I recognized it immediately.
It contained the documents from NexusCore's earliest years.
The original handwritten cap table.
Investor notes.
Emails printed because Matthew once insisted digital records were too easy to lose.
My first shareholder certificate.
I looked at my father.
"She took the founder file."
"Why?"
Ortiz asked.
I knew.
"Because Matthew needed something from it."
At 10:05, NexusCore issued a second statement.
This one accused Sterling Meridian of attempting a hostile takeover.
Financial channels exploded.
Commentators debated whether Harrison Sterling had intentionally sabotaged his son-in-law.
Nobody knew I was in the hospital.
Matthew gave his first interview by telephone.
His voice sounded calm.
Reasonable.
Victimized.
"Last night, outside financial interests began applying extraordinary pressure on NexusCore."
"I cannot speculate about motivation."
"But I will say that my wife and I have experienced difficult family dynamics with the Sterling family for years."
I watched from the hospital television.
He was using me.
Even now.
The reporter asked,
"Is your wife currently with you?"
Matthew paused beautifully.
"My wife is dealing with a private health matter."
My mother whispered,
"That bastard."
Matthew continued.
"I ask the media to respect her privacy."
I almost threw the remote.
Pain stopped me.
My father muted the television.
"No."
I looked at him.
"No what?"
"No more."
He picked up his phone.
"Public relations?"
Thomas asked.
My father nodded.
I caught his wrist.
"Don't."
He looked at me.
"This is my story."
His expression softened.
"Yes."
"If anyone says anything, I do."
My mother frowned.
"Clare, you are injured."
"Which is exactly why he thinks I won't speak."
I asked Thomas for my phone.
He hesitated.
"Clare."
"Give it to me."
He did.
There were 172 unread messages.
Most were from people I had not spoken to in years.
Some had seen Matthew's interview.
Others had heard rumors.
One message came from Lauren.
I am sorry.
That was all.
I stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
I did not know he would hurt you.
Another.
I was in the penthouse before he came home.
My heartbeat accelerated.
I typed:
Why?
The response took nearly a minute.
To get the red folder.
I looked at Ortiz.
"She's admitting it."
Ortiz moved closer.
I typed:
For Matthew?
Lauren answered.
I thought so.
My fingers stopped.
I read the words again.
I thought so.
I typed:
What does that mean?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
Matthew didn't send me.
I looked up.
Everyone was watching.
"What?"
my father asked.
I turned the phone.
Lauren's next message arrived.
Someone else did.
Then:
Someone who told me the folder would prove Matthew stole NexusCore from you.
Then:
Clare, there is something you need to know about the night the company was founded.
Before she could continue, my screen went black.
The phone had not died.
It had been remotely wiped.
Thomas grabbed it.
"Don't touch anything."
"What happened?"
Ortiz asked.
Thomas held down the power button.
Nothing.
"Remote management."
I stared.
"Matthew?"
"Maybe."
Then my father's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
Older.
Calm.
Familiar enough that my father's face lost all color.
"Harrison."
My father did not breathe.
The voice continued.
"You always were slow to find the truth."
My father whispered one name.
"Jonathan?"
The line went dead.
My mother stood frozen.
Thomas stared.
I looked between them.
My father's former partner had died sixteen years earlier.
Except apparently he had not.
May you like
And before noon, the man who was supposed to be dead had just called my father.
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