Chapter 5 - THE ULTIMATUM AT THE DOOR
The silence in the small apartment was deafening.
Martha stared at her own name written in the ledger. Her knees finally gave out. She collapsed into the only upright kitchen chair, her hands covering her mouth.
“I didn't sign anything,” she sobbed, the sound muffled and heartbroken. “I haven't used my maiden name since 1990. How could he do this to me? I just wanted a quiet place to drink my coffee in the morning.”
I felt a surge of pure, blinding anger. Richard hadn’t just emotionally abused this woman for three decades; he had systematically built a trap door beneath her life.
“He forged her signature,” I said to Luca. “You can’t give this to the FBI. They’ll arrest her before she even has a chance to hire a lawyer.”
Luca ran a hand through his dark hair, the weight of the betrayal settling heavily on his shoulders. “I know. I’m not calling the authorities yet. But Claire, two million dollars was wired across international lines. The bank’s automated fraud system is going to flag it by Monday morning. We have less than forty-eight hours to prove Richard was the one operating the account, or Martha takes the fall.”
“How did he even open it without her being present?” I asked.
“He’s an accountant who specializes in corporate restructuring,” Luca replied. “He knows every loophole. He probably used an old copy of her passport and forged a power of attorney.”
Before I could ask how we were going to find the power of attorney, a sharp, rhythmic knocking echoed from the apartment door.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap.
Martha went rigid. “That’s him. That’s how he knocks on the bedroom door when he’s angry.”
Luca moved in front of Martha, gesturing for me to stay back. He walked to the door and yanked it open.
Richard stood in the hallway, leaning casually against the doorframe. He had changed out of his suit and was wearing a dark wool trench coat. He didn't look like a man whose massive fraud had just been discovered. He looked like a man holding a winning lottery ticket.
In his gloved hand, he held a thick manila envelope.
“Evening, Luca,” Richard said smoothly, his eyes sliding past the younger man to lock onto his wife. “I see you found the ledger. Celine was always sloppy.”
“You’re trespassing, Richard,” Luca said, his voice a low growl. “Get out before I throw you down these stairs.”
“You won’t do that,” Richard said, stepping forward until he was inches from Luca. “Because if I don't check in with my attorney in exactly one hour, he is instructed to courier the contents of this envelope directly to the federal prosecutor’s office.”
Richard held up the envelope.
“Inside this package is the original notarized power of attorney, granting me the right to act on behalf of Martha Hayes’s offshore holdings,” Richard said, smiling coldly at his wife. “Signed, sealed, and witnessed.”
“It’s a forgery,” I snapped from across the room.
Richard laughed. “Is it? The signature matches her driver's license perfectly. And the notary who stamped it is fully licensed by the state. It will hold up in court long enough to see my dear wife denied bail as a flight risk.”
Martha pressed her hands against her ears, trying to block out the smooth, cruel cadence of his voice.
“What do you want, Richard?” Luca demanded. “You have two million of my dollars. Take it and disappear.”
“I don't want your money, Luca. Celine can keep whatever scraps she managed to hide,” Richard said, his eyes darkening. He pointed a finger at Martha. “I want my wife. She packs her bags tonight, she gets in my car, and she comes home to make my dinner. If she does that, this envelope goes into the fireplace, and the Cayman account quietly closes.”
It was entirely about control. He couldn't stand the idea that she had walked away.
“I won’t go back,” Martha whispered. She lowered her hands, her chin trembling but rising. “I would rather go to prison.”
Richard’s smile vanished. “You’ll die in prison, Martha.”
“Wait,” I said, stepping forward and looking closely at the manila envelope in Richard’s hand.
Through the thin, transparent window of the envelope, I could see a flash of the signature on the top document. It was signed in a bright, distinct shade of turquoise ink.
“Martha,” I said, my heart skipping a beat. “When did you break your right wrist?”
Martha blinked, confused by the sudden question. “Four years ago. I fell on the ice.”
I looked at Richard. His confident posture stiffened just a fraction.
“Let me guess,” I said to Richard. “The date on that notarized document is from three years ago. But Martha’s handwriting changed after she broke her wrist. The loop on her ‘M’ is different now.”
Richard sneered. “A handwriting expert will take months to prove that.”
“They won’t have to,” Martha said suddenly, standing up from the chair. A strange, eerie calm had settled over her. She picked up her purse from the table and opened the clasp.
She reached inside and pulled out a small, heavy silver locket on a tarnished chain.
May you like
Richard saw the locket, and the color drained completely from his face.
“You think you’re the only one who kept secrets, Richard?” Martha said, holding the locket up by the chain. “I know what you did with Elise’s trust fund. I know why she really died.”
