Chapter 4 - The Signature That Shouldn't Exist|
I spent the next three hours staring at a photocopy of a signature.
The handwriting was unmistakably my mother's. I had seen it on birthday cards, school permission slips, and the handwritten recipes she left in a tin box after she died.
But the signature on the trust document was dated after her funeral.
Either someone had forged her name, or the story of her final days was far more complicated than I had ever imagined.
Cameron arranged a meeting with Daniel Price at a discreet law office downtown. I insisted on coming.
“You're not going to lock me out of this again,” I told him.
He opened the passenger door of his car.
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
The law office occupied three floors of an old Manhattan building. Daniel, a silver-haired attorney with tired eyes, greeted us with a stack of documents.
“I need both of you to understand something,” he said. “These records are evidence of potential fraud. They do not yet establish who committed it or why.”
“Then show us what they establish,” I replied.
Daniel spread the papers across the table.
The trust had been created to manage assets from the Reed Family Medical Foundation. Over the years, millions of dollars intended for experimental treatments and community hospitals had passed through shell companies.
One of those companies had employed my mother.
Another had paid the private investigator.
A third had made substantial contributions to a foundation chaired by Charles Whitmore.
“Your mother was an accounts analyst,” Daniel explained. “She appears to have raised questions about missing funds. Shortly afterward, she resigned.”
“She never mentioned any of this to me.”
“You were a child. She may have believed she could resolve it without involving you.”
I traced the date on the trust document.
“Who witnessed this signature?”
Daniel slid another page toward me.
A name appeared beneath my mother's.
Eleanor Reed.
Cameron's grandmother.
He went completely still.
“My grandmother died when I was sixteen.”
“Her signature appears on several original documents,” Daniel said. “The question is whether she witnessed this one.”
Cameron stared at the paper.
“Eleanor hated my father. She believed he was destroying the company.”
“Could she have helped my mother?” I asked.
“I don't know.”
Daniel explained that Eleanor's estate had been transferred to a charitable trust after her death. The trustees included several longtime Reed family advisers, one of whom was still active in the company.
That adviser was Martin Hale, Reed Global's current chief financial officer.
Cameron immediately called him.
Martin answered with practiced warmth.
“Cameron. I was just about to reach out. Vanessa's departure has created quite a stir.”
“I'm not interested in gossip. I need the original medical foundation records.”
A brief silence followed.
“Those records were destroyed years ago.”
“Who authorized the destruction?”
“Your father.”
“Do you have the order?”
“I'm afraid not.”
Cameron ended the call.
Daniel looked troubled.
“If Martin knew the records existed, he may know more than he's admitting.”
On our way out, a young paralegal hurried after me.
“Ms. Carter?”
She handed me a small padded envelope.
“This arrived for you yesterday. Someone instructed reception to keep it until you came in.”
Inside was a silver key and a handwritten note.
Your mother trusted one person in the Reed family. If you want to know why she died, open the box at Grand Central. Locker 214.
I looked at Cameron.
“Who sent this?”
He examined the handwriting.
“I don't know.”
“Could it be a trap?”
“Yes.”
“Are we going?”
He met my eyes.
“Only if you want to.”
I closed my fingers around the key.
For twenty-eight years, I had believed my mother's story ended in a hospital corridor.
Now I had a chance to discover what really happened.
At Grand Central, we found locker 214 exactly where the note said it would be.
The silver key turned.
Inside was a photograph of my mother standing beside a young man wearing a Reed Global identification badge.
May you like
On the back, someone had written his name.
Cameron Reed.
