Chapter 10 - PHASE TWO
The alternative plan was not detailed.
That made it more frightening.
A short list.
Pressure family.
Challenge competence.
Medical documentation.
Emergency board action.
Temporary proxy.
I read the words inside Marissa’s office.
“Challenge competence?”
Marissa pointed to the medical documentation line.
“We think Derek planned to argue that you were temporarily unable to participate in corporate decisions.”
“Because of my eye?”
“Possibly.”
The document included drafts of emails.
One was written as if it came from Vanessa.
Claire is under medication and not thinking clearly.
As her sister, I believe major corporate decisions should wait.
Another draft was addressed to Harold.
It claimed I had previously agreed to give Vanessa temporary proxy rights.
Derek was building a paper trail.
But the most disturbing document was a medical release form.
My name appeared at the top.
My signature had been forged again.
The form authorized Dr. Nathan Pierce to discuss my condition with Bellamy’s attorneys.
I had never met him.
Police found Dr. Pierce in Dayton.
He was not involved in my care.
But he had received three payments from Victor Hale.
He claimed they were consulting fees.
The case widened.
Derek.
Victor.
Petered corporate buyers.
A doctor willing to create medical confusion.
This had stopped being a cruel wedding prank.
It was a planned campaign to remove me from a business vote.
Then Marissa received a call.
Her expression changed while listening.
“What?”
I asked after she hung up.
“Victor Hale was found unconscious in his garage.”
My stomach dropped.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Barely.”
“What happened?”
“Carbon monoxide exposure.”
“Accident?”
“We don’t know.”
Victor had agreed to a second police interview that morning.
He had been preparing to identify someone else involved in the Bellamy deal.
Now he was in intensive care.
Derek was already in custody on evidence tampering and assault-related charges.
So he could not have personally done it.
“Then somebody else is still involved.”
I said.
Marissa nodded.
That evening, Aaron called.
He sounded shaken.
“I found something else in the wedding footage.”
“What?”
“Somebody was watching Derek load the cannon.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
Aaron sent me a still frame.
In the reflection of a stainless-steel service door stood a woman.
Older.
Elegant.
Silver dress.
I recognized her immediately.
It was my aunt Patricia.
May you like
My mother’s younger sister.
The woman currently serving as interim chairwoman of Bellamy Manufacturing.
