Chapter 2 - The Billionaire’s ShadowBy 8:00 a.m. the following morning, the rain had cleared, leaving Harlow washed in a crisp, bright autumn sunlight. Steam rose from the wet asphalt outside Tate Auto Repair as I unlocked the front door and let Jade and Lily inside.
Pete Marsh was already waiting in my office, sitting behind my clutter of engine manuals and spare parts receipts with a hot cup of black coffee in his hand. Pete was fifty-eight, with thinning gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a scruffy tweed jacket that made him look more like a high school history teacher than an estate lawyer. But behind those glasses was one of the sharpest legal minds in the county.
“Alright,” Pete said, spreading three manila folders across my desk. “I ran a deeper background check on the document Marcus Drew filed with the probate court in Atlanta.”
Jade and Lily stood beside my chair, listening intently.
“The document claims Robert Calloway executed a personal promissory note for forty thousand dollars eight months ago,” Pete explained, pointing a pencil at a photo-copy of the contract. “It bears Robert’s signature, Marcus Drew’s signature, and a official notary stamp from a woman named Evelyn Vance.”
“And you said Evelyn Vance retired eighteen months ago?” Jade asked.
“Eighteen months ago,” Pete confirmed. “I called the Secretary of State’s notary commission board first thing this morning. Evelyn Vance officially surrendered her seal and commission in April of last year due to health reasons. She couldn’t legally notarize a sandwich eight months ago, let alone a corporate loan.”
Lily gasped softly. “So it’s fake!”
“It’s a forgery, plain and simple,” Pete said grimly. “Whoever manufactured this document used an outdated notary stamp template. They assumed nobody would bother checking the state registry for a routine forty-thousand-dollar probate claim against a modest estate.”
“Why forty thousand?” I asked, leaning back against the workbench. “Marcus Drew worth billions. Why go through the trouble of forging a document for forty grand?”
Jade’s jaw tightened. “Because forty thousand dollars is the exact liquid reserve my father held in his primary business account. It wasn’t a random number, Owen. Marcus knew exactly how much money was in that account. He wanted to strip the business bare so we couldn’t afford to hire accountants or lawyers to audit the joint venture.”
Pete nodded slowly. “She’s right. If he drains the liquid cash through a priority debt claim, the estate goes insolvent. You lose the house, you lose the logistics licenses, and Marcus absorbs the remaining client contracts for pennies on the dollar.”
Before anyone could speak, the sound of a heavy engine echoed outside the shop.
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Through the garage windows, a glossy black luxury sedan pulled into my cracked concrete lot, kicking up loose gravel. Two men in dark suits stepped out, followed by a third man carrying a leather briefcase.
Jade froze. “That’s Marcus’s lead counsel. Arthur Sterling.”
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