Chapter 8: The Second Name
Julian turned the phone so Meredith could read it.
She read Forsythe's message twice.
Then she sat back in her chair.
"Phillip Crane," she said.
"You know him."
"He was Father's estate manager for eleven years.
He retired the year before Father died." She looked at the fire grate — unlit, cold.
"He came to the funeral.
He stood at the back.
I remember thinking he looked uncomfortable."
"According to Forsythe, he's listed as a secondary advisor in the consulting agreement.
He's been receiving payments from Holt Capital for the past two years." Julian set the phone down.
"He would have known everything.
The layout of the holdings, the legal structure, the weak points in the trust documents.
Everything Holt needed to mount a challenge."
"Genevieve didn't mention him."
"No.
She protected him." Julian stood.
"Or she didn't know Forsythe already had his name."
Meredith was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Phillip came to me three months ago.
He said he was struggling financially.
His pension hadn't stretched the way he'd planned.
He asked if there was any work on the estate — consulting, oversight, anything." She looked at Julian.
"I said I'd think about it."
"Did you?"
"I was going to say no.
But I hadn't yet."
Julian picked up his phone and called Forsythe directly.
The attorney answered on the second ring.
"The second name," Julian said.
"Phillip Crane.
What do you have?"
Forsythe's voice was measured.
"Enough.
The payments are documented.
We also have three emails between Crane and Holt from last year discussing the medical amendment — specifically, which details to emphasize in the neurologist's brief.
Crane provided the timeline of your father's medication schedule.
He had access to those records through his years on the estate."
Julian looked at Meredith.
She had gone very still.
"He was in this house," she said quietly, not to Julian — to herself.
"He sat at that table.
He knew Father's schedule, his doctors, his routines." She stopped.
"He was at the funeral.
He stood at the back and I thought he looked uncomfortable." Her voice stayed level, but something behind it had shifted.
"He was uncomfortable because he had already sold us."
"Meredith." Julian crossed to her chair and crouched down so he was at eye level.
"This is not on you."
"I almost gave him a job."
"But you didn't."
"I was going to say no because something felt off.
I couldn't name it.
I just — it didn't sit right." She looked at Julian.
"What if I had said yes?
What if I had given him access again?"
"You didn't."
"Julian—"
"You didn't," he said again.
Firm.
Not harsh.
"You trusted your instincts.
They were right.
That's the end of that part of the story."
She held his gaze for a moment.
Then she nodded once — small, but real.
Julian stood and returned to the phone.
"Edward.
What happens to Crane?"
"The SFO referral covers him as well.
Given his age and the documentary evidence, I expect they'll move for a civil recovery order before any criminal charge — but that's their decision.
He won't be advising anyone on anything for the remainder of his life."
"Good," Julian said.
"Keep me informed."
He ended the call and set the phone on the mantelpiece.
The room was quiet again.
Outside, the light had dropped another degree — that particular late-afternoon gold that makes everything look slightly more serious than it is.
"It's over," Julian said.
Meredith looked at the USB drive still sitting on the table.
"Almost."
"What's left?"
She picked up the drive.
"I want to watch it with you.
Properly.
Not as evidence.
Just — as his children." She looked at Julian.
"He deserves that."
Julian pulled his chair around so it faced the laptop screen.
May you like
"All right," he said.
"Let's watch it."
