Chapter 3 - THE SIGNATURE I NEVER WROTE
Margaret Sloan arrived at my father's old office that afternoon.
The room still smelled faintly of cedar and expensive paper.
His reading glasses sat beside a stack of hotel development reports.
I hadn't moved them.
I wasn't ready.
Margaret placed three documents on the desk.
“Before we discuss your husband, I need you to understand the structure of your inheritance.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
“Your father placed his controlling interest in Vale Harbor Hospitality into a family trust.”
“I know.”
“You are now the controlling beneficiary and voting representative under the trust's terms.”
I swallowed.
“And Adrian?”
Margaret looked at me.
“He has no ownership interest in those assets simply because he's your husband.”
I exhaled.
She continued.
“However, someone has been submitting documents suggesting he has authority to act for you.”
I stared.
“What documents?”
Margaret slid a paper toward me.
A limited power of attorney.
My name appeared at the bottom.
My signature.
Except the handwriting was wrong.
I stared at it.
“I didn't sign this.”
Margaret nodded.
“We suspected that.”
The document authorized Adrian to negotiate hospitality agreements.
Access confidential financial records.
And approve certain owner-residence arrangements.
I felt sick.
“How long has this been happening?”
Margaret looked down.
“Possibly months.”
I remembered Adrian encouraging me to rest after my father's death.
Telling me not to worry about paperwork.
Offering to handle phone calls.
Collecting mail.
Being unusually helpful.
I looked up.
“He was preparing this while I was grieving.”
Margaret's expression softened.
“It appears possible.”
I stared at the forged signature.
Then asked:
“Can we stop him?”
Margaret nodded.
“We can challenge the documents, revoke any purported authority, notify the relevant institutions, and preserve evidence.”
I took a slow breath.
“Do it.”
Margaret paused.
“Elise, there's something else.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“The power of attorney wasn't the only document submitted.”
She placed another page on the desk.
An application for a substantial private credit facility.
Borrower:
MORGANWELL HOLDINGS
Proposed guarantor:
ELISE VALE MORGAN
I stared.
“How much?”
Margaret swallowed.
“Forty-eight million dollars.”
For a moment, the room went silent.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because my husband had apparently decided that if he couldn't inherit my father's fortune, he'd borrow against it.
Without asking me.
I looked at Margaret.
“Tell me something.”
“Yes?”
“If I hadn't discovered the hotel reservation, would this have gone through?”
She hesitated.
“Not necessarily. There were still required approvals.”
I nodded.
“But he was trying.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward my father's photograph.
Then whispered:
“He didn't marry me for the money.”
Margaret said nothing.
May you like
I swallowed.
“At least, I didn't think he did.”
