Chapter 7: The Name She Couldn't Explain
Lauren's mouth opened.
Then it closed.
Jared waited.
"He's a notary I use for legal documents," she said finally.
"He's licensed in Cook County.
There's nothing unusual about—"
"He's your ex-husband's brother."
The words landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Lauren's face did not move.
That was the tell.
A person caught by surprise moves.
A person caught by a fact they already know goes very still.
"That's not—" she started.
"I looked him up," Jared said.
"While you were in the hallway.
Curtis Vane.
Licensed notary.
Formerly married to a woman named Priya Vane, née Sharma.
Priya Sharma, who was previously married to a man named Derek Sharma." He set his phone on the table, screen up.
"Derek Sharma.
Your first husband."
"Jared, this is not what you think—"
"Then tell me what it is." His voice had not risen.
That was what frightened me more than shouting would have.
"Because from where I'm standing, my wife has been using her former brother-in-law to notarize documents that gave her control over my father's money.
Documents signed during a week when my father was hospitalized and sedated.
Documents my father says he never signed." He looked at me.
"Dad.
Did you sign anything three years ago authorizing Lauren to manage your trust account?"
"No," I said.
Clearly.
No confusion, no slump, no vacant stare.
"I did not."
Jared turned back to Lauren.
She looked at me.
And for the first time since Father's Day, the performance dropped.
Not completely.
Not all at once.
But something behind her eyes shifted, and what replaced the practiced warmth was something colder and more honest.
"You've been pretending," she said.
"Yes," I said.
She looked at Jared.
Then back at me.
Then at the documents on the table.
"You can't prove the signature is forged," she said.
"Handwriting analysis is not exact science.
Any attorney will tell you that."
"The bank has the original authorization form," I said.
"Dated and time-stamped.
The branch manager has already confirmed the date matches my hospitalization records.
I was sedated for a surgical procedure on the day that form was signed."
Lauren's jaw tightened.
"Curtis is a licensed notary.
He witnessed a valid signature."
"Curtis Vane's notary license is currently under review," I said.
"He notarized documents for two other families before ours.
Both elderly.
Both with trust accounts.
Both missing money." I paused.
"Raymond Holt sends his regards."
The color left her face.
"Raymond—"
"Federal fraud investigator," I said.
"Former colleague.
We worked together for six years before he moved to the government side." I folded my hands on the table.
"He's been looking at your work for four days, Lauren.
The routing numbers.
The account in Curtis's name.
The eighteen months of preparation before the authorization form was ever signed."
Jared had not moved.
"Eighteen months," he said.
"The account was opened before we were married," Lauren said quickly.
"That doesn't mean—"
"You opened a receiving account for stolen funds before you married my son," I said.
"That is premeditation.
That is not a misunderstanding."
Lauren picked up her portfolio.
"I'm not saying another word without an attorney."
"That's your right," I said.
She looked at Jared.
Something crossed her face then — and I watched to see if it was regret, or if it was only the calculation of what she stood to lose.
"Jared," she said.
"Whatever you think happened — I did this for us.
For our future.
Your father was never going to use that money.
He didn't even know it existed.
I was building something—"
"Get out," Jared said.
She stopped.
"Get out of his apartment," Jared said.
"Don't come back here."
Lauren looked at him for a long moment.
Then she walked to the door, opened it, and left without another word.
The door clicked shut.
Jared stood at the kitchen table with his hands flat on the surface and his head down.
I waited.
"How long have you known?" he asked.
"I've been building the case for four days," I said.
"I've suspected since Father's Day."
He looked up.
His face was the face of a man who has just understood something he cannot un-understand.
"Dad," he said.
"I'm so sorry."
His phone buzzed on the table.
He looked at the screen.
Then he looked at me.
May you like
"It's Raymond Holt," he said.
"He says the warrant has been executed."
