Chapter 4: The Name She Didn't Expect Me to Know
Conrad arrived forty minutes later.
He was sixty-one, silver-haired, and carried a leather briefcase that had survived more courtrooms than most lawyers half his age.
He shook my hand at the door, looked past me toward the kitchen, and said nothing until we were inside.
Genevieve had changed out of her robe while I waited.
She was dressed now — composed, professional, a cashmere sweater and dark trousers, as if she had known she would need to perform.
She stood when Conrad entered.
"Ms.
Sutter," he said.
"Conrad." She smiled.
"I imagine Dorian has said some alarming things."
"He played me a phone call," Conrad said.
"That was enough." He set his briefcase on the table and opened it.
"I'd like to ask you about a paralegal named Tessa Vane."
Genevieve's smile stayed exactly where it was.
"I don't know that name."
"She works for a firm called Meridian Advisory Group.
They specialize in trust restructuring for high-net-worth individuals." Conrad removed a single sheet of paper and placed it on the table.
"Six weeks ago, Meridian submitted a formal records request for the Mallory Ashcombe Memorial Trust instrument.
The request was routed through a contact inside the Ashcombe Holdings administrative office." He tapped the paper.
"The contact's name is listed here.
I'd like to know how you know her."
Genevieve looked at the paper without touching it.
"I already told Dorian.
I was trying to understand the family's estate structure so I could be prepared as a future spouse.
That is not a crjme."
"Accessing a private trust instrument through an inside contact without the trustee's knowledge is not standard spousal preparation," Conrad said.
"And submitting a modification petition with a forged signature is considerably more serious than that."
"The signature wasn't forged.
It was—"
"Reproduced without authorization on a legal filing.
In California, that carries the same weight." Conrad folded his hands on the table.
"Ms.
Sutter, I'm not here to arrest you.
I'm here to understand the full scope of what happened before we decide how to proceed.
If you cooperate now, that matters.
If we have to reconstruct everything without your help, that matters too — but differently."
Genevieve was quiet for a moment.
Then she looked at me.
"Dorian.
Can we have five minutes alone?"
"No," I said.
Something moved behind her eyes.
Not fear exactly.
Recalculation.
"All right." She turned back to Conrad.
"I want to call my attorney."
"That is absolutely your right," Conrad said.
He didn't move the paper.
She picked up her phone.
Dialed.
Waited.
Her expression didn't change, but I watched her thumb press the call button a second time.
Then a third.
No answer.
She set the phone down carefully.
"He's not available."
"Tessa Vane's firm was retained by someone," Conrad said.
"The retainer was paid through a personal account, not a corporate one.
The account belongs to a man named Fletcher Pryce." He paused.
"Mr.
Pryce is your former business partner.
He sold his stake in your shared consulting firm fourteen months ago — two months before you and Dorian met."
The cashmere sweater, the careful posture, the practiced calm — none of it moved.
But Genevieve's right hand, resting on the table, closed slowly into a fist.
"Fletcher has nothing to do with this," she said.
"He paid for the trust analysis," Conrad said.
"He paid for the paralegal.
And three days ago, forty minutes before the modification petition was submitted to the recorder's office, he made a phone call to your cell number that lasted eleven minutes." Conrad looked at her steadily.
"What did you two discuss?"
"I want my attorney," Genevieve said.
"You're welcome to keep trying." Conrad leaned back.
"But while you do, I'd like Dorian to know one more thing." He turned to me.
"The modification petition wasn't the end goal.
If it had succeeded — if Genevieve had been added as co-trustee — the next step would have been a distribution request.
Sixty percent of the trust's liquid assets.
Timed, our forensic accountant believes, to land in a joint account approximately one week after your wedding."
I looked at Genevieve.
She didn't look away.
That was the thing that struck me most.
After everything — the forged signature, the paralegal, Fletcher Pryce, the eleven-minute phone call — she looked back at me without flinching.
"I love you," she said.
"Whatever this looks like, I love you."
"You were going to take sixty-four million dollars from my sons," I said.
"I was going to secure our future."
"Their future," I said.
"Mallory's boys.
Not yours.
Not ours."
The fist on the table tightened.
Then she stood up.
"I'm not saying another word without my attorney present." She looked at Conrad.
"Are you detaining me?"
"No," Conrad said.
She picked up her phone and walked out of the kitchen.
I heard her heels on the foyer tile.
I heard the front door open.
I heard it close.
Conrad looked at me across the table.
"She messaged someone before she left.
I need you to tell me every person who has had access to this house in the last three months."
I sat down.
Outside, through the kitchen window, I could see Genevieve's car reversing down the drive.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was a number I didn't recognize.
I answered it.
"Mr.
Ashcombe." A woman's voice.
Careful.
Slightly nervous.
"My name is Tessa Vane.
I think we need to talk.
I didn't know the signature was forged.
I didn't know about the boys." A pause.
"I have everything.
Every email.
Every instruction.
May you like
Every payment record.
And I think you should have it before Fletcher Pryce realizes I've stopped returning his calls."
