Chapter 13 - The Church Where It BeganThe church was empty.
Rain hammered the stained-glass windows.
Richard had proposed to me there twenty-nine years earlier.
Now someone had chosen it as the place to reveal the truth.
I entered alone.
At least, that's what they thought.
Ethan, Victor, and Vanessa waited in a car nearby.
I walked toward the altar.
A figure appeared from the shadows.
Thomas Reed.
Alive.
Older.
Smiling.
“You look exactly the same.”
“I don't.”
He laughed.
“Still stubborn.”
“You killed my husband.”
“No.”
“You helped fake his death.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard refused to cooperate.”
“Cooperate with what?”
He moved closer.
“With the person who actually owned Carter Holdings.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
Thomas smiled.
“Your mother.”
My breath caught.
“Clara.”
“Yes.”
“She died before Richard.”
“No.”
My knees almost gave out.
“What?”
“Your mother didn't die.”
He stepped closer.
“She disappeared.”
“You're lying.”
“She changed her identity.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard betrayed her.”
Every piece felt impossible.
Yet every document pointed back to the same place.
Thomas pulled out a folder.
“Your mother owned forty-nine percent of Carter Holdings.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He opened another page.
“She owned seventy-one percent.”
I stared.
“What?”
“The remaining shares were distributed through shell trusts.”
“And Richard?”
“Seven percent.”
“Then how did he control the company?”
“Because your mother gave him proxy rights.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
I shook my head.
“What happened?”
“Richard tried to take permanent control.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed you were too trusting.”
“And Ethan?”
Thomas laughed.
“Ethan wasn't supposed to inherit.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Your husband planned to leave everything to you.”
“Then why the trust?”
“Because someone forced his hand.”
“Patricia.”
Thomas nodded.
“Patricia discovered the original ownership structure.”
“What does she want?”
“Not money.”
“Then what?”
“Power.”
He leaned closer.
“She wants to rewrite the entire ownership record.”
“How?”
“By making everyone believe you voluntarily transferred your shares.”
My stomach tightened.
“The forged transfers.”
“Exactly.”
Thomas pulled out another document.
A power of attorney.
My signature was on it.
But I had never signed it.
I looked at him.
“You forged this.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Thomas smiled.
“You did.”
“I did not.”
He handed me a mirror.
“Look at your signature.”
I stared.
It was mine.
Perfect.
Then I noticed the date.
The signature had been created digitally.
I looked up.
“You used my old documents.”
“Yes.”
“To generate a digital signature.”
“Yes.”
“You can fabricate anything.”
“Not anything.”
He pointed toward the church doors.
“We still need one thing.”
“What?”
“Your final signature.”
I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned.
Ethan stood at the entrance.
Thomas smiled.
“You shouldn't have brought him.”
Ethan walked forward.
“You knew he'd come.”
Thomas nodded.
“I was counting on it.”
Then the church doors slammed shut.
Patricia stepped from behind the altar.
A gun rested in her hand.
Beside her stood Richard.
Alive.
Wheelchair.
Eyes empty.
Patricia pointed at me.
“Sign the transfer.”
Ethan shouted:
“No!”
Patricia smiled.
“Or your husband dies a second time.”
I stared at Richard.
His eyes met mine.
For one second, I saw recognition.
Then he whispered one word.
“Run.”
May you like
Patricia raised the gun.
And fired.
