Chapter 5 - Shadows on the Threshold
I drove directly to Marcus’s office, located in a non-descript commercial plaza on the edge of town. Marcus was waiting for me, a large mug of black coffee in his hand.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Marcus said, ushering me into his back room, which was filled with computer monitors and servers.
"Worse," I said. "I saw the paper trail."
I handed him my phone with the photos of the trust documents and the offshore bank statements. Marcus immediately plugged the phone into his system and began analyzing the images.
"Jesus, David," Marcus whispered as he scrolled through the documents. "This is clean, but it's incredibly dirty. This power of attorney document... look at the signature."
He zoomed in on Arthur Vance's signature. He compared it to a signature on an older, verified document he pulled up from public records.
"It’s a forgery," Marcus said. "A damn good one, but the stroke pressure is all wrong. Arthur was suffering from advanced Parkinson's at the end of his life. His real signature was shaky, but it had a distinct tremor pattern. This signature is too smooth. Someone traced it."
"Ryan," I said.
"Most likely," Marcus agreed. "And these offshore transfers... they match up perfectly with the cash injections into Vance Holdings’ struggling projects. He’s been draining Lily's trust fund to pay off his corporate debts. If Lily turns eighteen next month and demands an accounting of the trust, the bank would have realized the funds were gone. He was going to be ruined."
"So he tried to kill her to keep her from turning eighteen," I said, a cold chill running down my spine.
"If Lily died, the trust agreement states the funds would revert to the primary estate, which Ryan has full control over as the executor," Marcus explained. "He would have legally inherited the money he had already stolen. The fraud would have been buried forever."
"Can we go to the police with this?" I asked.
Marcus sighed, leaning back in his chair. "We can, but white-collar crime units move slow. Really slow. It could take weeks, even months, for them to get the warrants to freeze his accounts and verify the forgery. By then, Ryan could have transferred the remaining funds to a non-extradition country and vanished. Or worse, he could try to finish what he started with Lily."
"No," I said, my voice hardening. "I'm not giving him that chance. How do we speed this up?"
"We need a confession," Marcus said. "Or we need to trap him into making a move that the local police can't ignore."
Before we could brainstorm further, my cell phone rang. It was Lily’s number.
I answered it immediately. "Lily? Are you okay?"
"Dad..." Lily’s voice was tiny, choked with tears. "He’s here."
My heart stopped. "Who is there, Lily?"
"Uncle Ryan. He’s outside the house. He’s in his car, just sitting there. He... he came to the door and knocked. I didn't answer. But he’s not leaving. He’s just staring at the window."
"Lily, listen to me," I said, panic claws scratching at my throat. "Is the front door locked? Are the windows locked?"
"Yes, I locked everything like you said. But Dad... he has a key."
My mind flashed back to when Claire and I were married. Ryan had helped us move into my bungalow. He had a spare key. I had never changed the locks.
God damn it, I cursed myself.
"Lily, go to my bedroom," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "In the closet, under the loose floorboard on the left, there is a small metal safe. The code is your birthday. Inside is a licensed handgun. Do you know how to use it?"
"Dad, no, I can't—"
"Lily, listen to me!" I urged. "If he gets inside, you do whatever you have to do to stay safe. I am five minutes away. I am coming right now."
"He’s getting out of the car," Lily whispered, her voice cracking. "He's walking up the porch."
"I'm on my way, baby. Hold on!"
I hung up and looked at Marcus. "I need your truck. It’s faster than mine."
"Take it," Marcus said, tossing me his keys. "I’m calling the local police. I’ll send them to your address. Go!"
May you like
I sprinted out of the office, jumped into Marcus's heavy-duty truck, and slammed on the gas. The tires screamed as I tore out of the parking lot, heading toward my house.
I had never driven so fast in my life. Every red light was a suggestion. Every slow car was an obstacle to be bypassed. Please, God, I prayed. Just let me make it in time.
