Chapter 3: The Man With the Document
Lucien moved.
He crossed the corridor in four strides and caught the man by the shoulder before he reached the exit.
The man turned slowly.
Late fifties.
Gray suit.
A face that had spent years learning not to react to anything.
"Who are you?" Lucien said.
"I'm a notary." He said it the way someone says the weather.
"I was engaged to witness a signature."
"Whose signature?"
The man glanced past Lucien toward Charles, who had followed at a measured pace and now stood a few feet back, hands in his pockets.
"That's a matter between my client and the relevant parties," the notary said.
Lucien stepped closer.
"My father is the relevant party.
And he is not answering his phone.
So I am asking you directly — whose signature did you just witness?"
The notary's jaw shifted.
He looked at Charles again.
Charles gave the smallest nod.
"Mr.
Edmund Hale," the notary said.
"He signed a transfer of voting proxy.
Effective immediately."
The corridor felt very quiet.
"To whom?" Lucien asked.
"To Mr.
Charles Hale."
Lucien turned around slowly.
Charles had not moved.
He was watching Lucien with the patient expression of a man who had rehearsed this moment many times and found it landing exactly as planned.
"A proxy," Lucien said.
"You got him to sign a proxy."
"He signed it willingly."
"Where is he?"
"Resting.
The meeting was tiring for him.
He's been unwell, as you know."
"I want to see him."
"Of course." Charles gestured toward the far end of the corridor.
"He's in the east anteroom.
I had him moved there when he felt faint.
Out of concern."
The word concern landed like something dropped from a height.
Lucien walked.
Charles followed.
Neither of them spoke.
The anteroom door was closed.
Lucien pushed it open without knocking.
His father was seated in a high-backed chair near the window.
Edmund Hale was seventy-three years old, and in the gray afternoon light he looked every year of it.
His hands were folded in his lap.
His eyes were open but slow to focus.
"Dad."
Edmund looked up.
Something moved across his face — recognition, then something harder to name.
Relief, maybe.
Or the beginning of it.
"Lucien." His voice was thin.
"I didn't — they said you had left."
"I came back." Lucien crouched in front of him.
"Did you sign something?"
Edmund's hands tightened in his lap.
"A document.
Charles said it was a formality.
A temporary measure while I recover."
"Did you read it?"
A pause.
Too long.
"He said it was standard."
Lucien held very still.
"Dad.
Did you read it?"
Edmund's eyes moved to the window.
"My glasses were in my coat.
Charles said there was no time.
The vote was about to begin and he needed the paperwork filed first."
"So you signed it without reading it."
Edmund didn't answer.
That was the answer.
Lucien stood up.
Charles was standing in the doorway.
He had not come in.
He was leaning against the frame with his arms folded, watching the two of them with an expression that was almost kind.
"He needed to rest," Charles said.
"I was protecting him."
"You took his vote."
"I'm holding it.
Temporarily.
Until he's well enough to exercise it responsibly."
"He's sitting in a chair.
He's not incapacitated."
"The board may see it differently." Charles tilted his head.
"Especially given his recent health reports.
Which I had filed with the council secretary this morning.
As a precaution."
Lucien looked at him for a long moment.
"You planned every piece of this," Lucien said.
"Before today.
Before this meeting.
Before Ava was even in this building."
Charles said nothing.
"You brought my daughter here."
"I invited the family.
That's not unusual."
"You put her somewhere she could hear what you were doing.
And then you used her to pull me out of that room at exactly the right moment."
Charles unfolded his arms.
"That's a serious accusation."
"It's a serious thing you did."
Edmund shifted in his chair.
"What is he saying, Charles?"
Charles looked at Edmund with an expression of practiced patience.
"He's upset, Father.
He's looking for someone to blame because the vote didn't go the way he wanted."
"The vote," Lucien said, "hasn't happened yet."
Charles's expression didn't change.
But his right hand moved — just slightly — toward his jacket pocket.
May you like
Lucien saw it.
"What else is in that pocket?" Lucien said.
