Chapter 3 - THE FILEI didn't remember the drive to Joselyn's apartment.
I only remembered the red lights.
The pounding in my chest.
Sandra beside me calling the police.
When we arrived, the building hallway was empty.
Joselyn's door was locked.
I knocked.
Nothing.
"Joselyn!"
No answer.
I called her phone.
It rang inside.
Sandra looked at me.
"We're not waiting."
The police arrived moments later.
They opened the door.
The apartment was empty.
A chair had been overturned.
One lamp was broken.
Joselyn's purse was on the floor.
Her phone was gone.
And on the kitchen counter sat an envelope.
My name again.
FRANCES WEBER
Inside was a printed document.
A list of my assets.
My house.
My company.
Investment accounts.
Retirement funds.
Insurance policies.
Real estate.
Even the approximate value of my jewelry.
I stared at the pages.
This wasn't curiosity.
It was preparation.
Someone had built an inventory of my life.
Then I saw the final page.
There was a heading.
POST-MARRIAGE ACCESS STRATEGY.
My blood ran cold.
The document outlined several steps.
Marriage.
Joint accounts.
Power of attorney.
Emergency medical authorization.
Company succession.
Trust modification.
Beneficiary changes.
The plan wasn't about love.
It was about control.
Sandra read over my shoulder.
"Frances..."
I couldn't answer.
At the bottom of the page was one handwritten sentence.
Once Joselyn marries, Frances becomes vulnerable.
I felt sick.
The police began searching the apartment.
Then an officer found a hidden folder inside a desk drawer.
It contained copies of my signature.
Dozens of them.
Some genuine.
Some forged.
I stared at them.
"Why would he need my signature?"
Sandra answered before I could.
"To make unauthorized documents look legitimate."
My knees felt weak.
Then she found something else.
A photocopy of my passport.
A copy of my driver's license.
And a document with my name at the top.
DURABLE POWER OF ATTORNEY
I hadn't signed it.
But the signature looked almost perfect.
Almost.
I knew my own handwriting.
There was one slight difference in the final stroke.
A tiny hesitation.
Someone had practiced my signature.
Repeatedly.
I looked at Sandra.
"How much time do we have?"
"For what?"
"Before he tries something."
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
We left the apartment at dawn.
By morning, Sandra had initiated emergency protections around my assets.
But there was one problem.
My company had an old operating agreement.
Robert had written it with me years ago.
If I became incapacitated, temporary authority could pass to a designated family representative.
At the time, it had been designed to protect Joselyn.
I had forgotten about it.
Derek hadn't.
Sandra found the clause.
"We need to change this immediately."
"Can we?"
"Not without a board vote."
"Then call the board."
She did.
By noon, everyone was in the conference room.
Everyone except one person.
Joselyn.
And that made no sense.
She owned a small percentage of the company through her inheritance from Robert.
She had the right to attend.
Unless someone had prevented her.
Then Sandra's phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
She put the call on speaker.
A bank officer was speaking.
"Ms. Cole has attempted to access documents associated with Weber Engineering."
I stared at Sandra.
"Vanessa?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"She presented authorization."
Sandra looked at me.
"What authorization?"
The officer hesitated.
"A power of attorney."
The room went silent.
"Whose?"
The answer came slowly.
"Frances Weber."
I stood.
"I never gave her power of attorney."
The officer replied:
"We know that now."
Sandra turned toward me.
"We have a bigger problem."
"What?"
She placed another document on the table.
It was a revised trust agreement.
My trust.
My name.
My signature.
And the date was yesterday.
The beneficiaries had been changed.
Joselyn's name was still there.
But underneath it was another name.
Northstar Advisory Group.
The document transferred a percentage of my estate to the company Derek and Vanessa controlled.
I felt the room tilt.
"That's impossible."
Sandra picked up the document.
"It is."
"Then why does it exist?"
She looked me straight in the eye.
"Because someone wants you to think they already have access."
The door opened.
One of my board members stepped inside.
He was pale.
"Frances..."
"What happened?"
He closed the door behind him.
"I checked the server logs."
"And?"
"Someone accessed the company's private files last night."
"Who?"
He swallowed.
"Your daughter's account."
I stared at him.
"Joselyn?"
He shook his head.
"No."
He turned his laptop toward me.
The login name appeared on the screen.
ROBERT WEBER
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I stopped breathing.
My husband had been dead for nine years.
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