Chapter 8: The Second Document
Nora filed a discovery request the next morning.
It was targeted and specific — Ethan's professional devices, his Prescott Biomedical email account, and any files stored on company servers under his login credentials.
Chloe's written account of what she had seen, timestamped and signed, went in as a supporting declaration.
Greer called Nora's office within two hours.
Nora put him on speaker so I could listen from the chair across her desk.
"This discovery request is a fishing expedition," Greer said.
"My client has cooperated fully with the court's injunction.
This additional demand is harassment."
"Your client's fiancée — excuse me, former fiancée — observed a document on his screen three weeks ago titled *Prescott IP Transfer — Final,* which does not appear in any materials your client has disclosed.
If that document exists, it falls within the scope of the injunction.
If it doesn't exist, your client has nothing to worry about."
A pause.
"I'll need to consult with my client."
"You have until five p.m.
today.
After that, I take it to the judge."
Greer hung up.
Nora set the phone down and looked at me.
"He'll stall," she said.
"But stalling tells us the document exists."
At 4:58 p.m., Greer's office sent over a single file.
Nora and I read it together at her conference table.
It was worse than the first filing.
The original Halcourt document had claimed co-ownership based on employment context.
This one went further.
It was a full assignment agreement — drafted as if I had already signed it, transferring all patent rights to Prescott Biomedical in exchange for a one-time payment of two hundred thousand dollars.
My signature was on page nine.
I had never seen this document before in my life.
"That's a forgery," I said.
"Yes." Nora's voice was flat and precise.
"And it's a federal offense."
I looked at the signature.
It was close.
Very close.
But the loop on the *M* was wrong, and the way the *e* in Prescott closed was not how I wrote it.
"Can we prove it?"
"Handwriting analysis.
And more importantly—" Nora flipped to the document's metadata page, which Greer's office had failed to strip before sending.
"This file was created eleven weeks ago.
Your original contracts, which clearly exclude IP transfer, were executed years before that.
Any competent judge will see the timeline."
"Greer's office sent this over without stripping the metadata."
"They were in a hurry.
Scared attorneys make mistakes." She closed the folder.
"Madeline.
This is no longer a civil IP dispute.
This is document fraud.
Potentially wire fraud, given the investor communications.
I need to make a call."
"To whom?"
"A colleague at the U.S.
Attorney's office."
I sat back in my chair.
The afternoon light came through the blinds in long, even bars across the table.
"My father signed the original filing," I said.
"Yes."
"He knew about this one too."
"Almost certainly."
I thought about the glass of red wine.
The comfortable chair.
The way he had set his drink down on the coaster before telling me that Ethan and Chloe were simply a better fit.
"Make the call," I said.
Nora picked up the phone.
I walked to the window and looked out at the street below.
A man was walking a dog.
A woman was unlocking a bicycle.
Ordinary Monday afternoon things.
My phone buzzed.
Ethan.
I watched it ring.
When it stopped, a voicemail notification appeared.
I played it.
*"Madeline.
I know this looks bad.
But you need to understand — this was your father's idea.
All of it.
The Halcourt filing, the assignment agreement, the Meridian deal.
I was following his lead.
I made mistakes.
But I was trying to protect what we built together.
Call me.
Please.
We can still fix this."*
I listened to it twice.
Then I forwarded it directly to Nora.
May you like
He had just put everything on Richard.
And he had done it on a recorded line.
