Chapter 8 - Daniel's Last Call
The official record said Daniel Hale died at 11:38 p.m.
His boat struck a submerged piling near the north end of Lake Mercer.
The weather was poor.
His blood alcohol level was above the legal limit.
No criminal investigation followed.
For eleven years, that had been the story.
Now Melissa sat across from me saying he had called her less than an hour before he died.
“What time?” I asked.
“10:51.”
“From where?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he sound like?”
“Angry.”
“Drunk?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell police?”
Melissa looked ashamed.
“Because he mentioned Victor.”
“How?”
“He said if anything happened to him, I should tell Victor to look at the old succession agreement.”
I felt cold.
“The operating agreement?”
“I don't know.”
“Exact words.”
She closed her eyes.
“He said, ‘Tell Victor to read what his father actually signed before he died.’”
Victor's father.
Thomas Hale.
Dead seventeen years.
Founder of Hale Development.
I had almost forgotten his role.
When Victor and I married, Thomas controlled the company.
After his death, Victor became president.
Daniel received shares but almost no management authority.
Eleanor retained certain trust interests.
My investment came three years later.
“What else?”
“He said Eleanor had moved money.”
“How much?”
“He didn't know.”
“Did he say why?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I heard a car door.”
“His?”
“I don't know.”
“Someone else's?”
“Maybe.”
She began crying.
“He said, ‘She's here.’”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“He didn't say.”
“What happened?”
“The call ended.”
“And forty-seven minutes later he hit the piling.”
Melissa nodded.
Ethan asked.
“Did you call him back?”
“Six times.”
“No answer.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Melissa looked at him.
“Because I was married.”
That surprised me.
“To who?”
“Daniel's friend.”
Of course the story had another layer.
“Name.”
“Peter Ward.”
I remembered him.
Commercial broker.
Quiet.
Divorced Melissa years ago.
“You were married to Peter while sleeping with Daniel and Victor?”
“Yes.”
Ethan stood.
“I need air.”
He walked outside.
I understood.
Melissa's decisions were beginning to sound less like a secret affair and more like an ecosystem of betrayal.
I remained.
“Did Peter know?”
“About Victor eventually.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Where is Peter now?”
“Seattle.”
“Would he speak to me?”
“No.”
“To police?”
“Maybe.”
I wrote down his information.
Then my phone rang.
Martin.
“Catherine, do you know a Peter Ward?”
I stared at Melissa.
“Why?”
“We found his name in one of the old Hale Meridian ledgers.”
My heart accelerated.
“What kind of entry?”
“Consulting payments.”
“When?”
“The year Daniel died.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Melissa went pale.
“What?”
I put the call on speaker.
Martin repeated it.
Melissa shook her head.
“Peter never worked for Hale Development.”
Martin asked.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Commercial brokerage.”
“Could he have referred business?”
“Not that much.”
Martin continued.
“There are four payments totaling two hundred fifty thousand.”
“Authorized by whom?” I asked.
“Eleanor.”
Melissa covered her mouth.
“Why would she pay Peter?”
No one answered.
I looked outside.
Ethan stood near my car.
Arms folded.
Rain beginning again.
“Martin, find Peter.”
“Already trying.”
“And get Daniel's accident file.”
“It's eleven years old.”
“Get it.”
“I will.”
I ended the call.
Melissa whispered.
“You think Peter knew?”
“I think we've spent thirteen years accepting stories told by people who benefited from them.”
I stood.
“I'm done doing that.”
By the time we returned to the hospital, Victor was awake again.
Eleanor had not returned.
Jonathan was in the corridor.
He saw me.
“Catherine.”
I kept walking.
“We need to talk.”
“Yes.”
He seemed relieved.
“My office tomorrow?”
“No.”
He stopped.
“Then where?”
“Here.”
“That isn't appropriate.”
“Neither is notarizing my forged signature.”
The color drained from his face.
Ethan looked between us.
Jonathan lowered his voice.
“I don't know what you're referring to.”
“Lake house deed.”
His expression became carefully blank.
“You signed it six years ago.”
“No.”
“Catherine—”
“Do not make your second mistake be lying to my face when I already have the document.”
He glanced toward Ethan.
“This should be a private conversation.”
“My son already knows his father stole from me.”
Jonathan flinched.
“Your characterization is legally premature.”
“So is prison.”
He went silent.
I stepped closer.
“Who forged my signature?”
“I did not witness a forgery.”
“You notarized it.”
“I notarized a signature presented to me.”
“Mine?”
He did not answer.
“Was I physically present?”
Silence.
That was enough.
“Who presented it?”
“Catherine.”
“Who?”
He looked toward Victor's room.
Then toward the elevators.
Fear.
Not embarrassment.
Fear.
“Eleanor.”
There it was.
“Why?”
“She said you had signed earlier.”
“And you believed her?”
“I had known the family for years.”
“You committed notarial fraud because you knew the family?”
“I made an error.”
“No.”
I leaned closer.
“You made a choice.”
His jaw tightened.
“You do not understand the pressure involved.”
“Then explain.”
He hesitated.
“Not here.”
“Now.”
Jonathan looked at Ethan.
Then back at me.
“Eleanor had information about me.”
“What kind?”
He closed his eyes.
“Financial.”
“What did you do?”
Nothing.
“What did you do, Jonathan?”
“I borrowed client funds.”
Ethan muttered a curse.
Jonathan spoke quickly.
“I replaced them.”
“That doesn't make it legal.”
“I know.”
“And Eleanor found out.”
“Yes.”
“So she owned you.”
His face tightened.
“She had leverage.”
“Same thing.”
“How many documents?”
“I don't know.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
My stomach turned.
“You notarized seven documents without me present?”
“Yes.”
“Forged signatures?”
“I did not forge them.”
“Who did?”
“I never asked.”
“Who brought them?”
“Eleanor.”
Every road led back to her.
I took out my phone.
Jonathan stepped back.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Martin.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Jonathan's voice dropped.
“Because if you expose Eleanor now, you will never find the original succession document.”
I stopped.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“The agreement Daniel was looking for before he died.”
My skin went cold.
“You know about it.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Who does?”
Jonathan looked through the glass toward Victor.
Then whispered.
May you like
“Victor.”
---
