Chapter 7 - The Affidavit From Tomorrow
The document was a mistake too large to ignore and too convenient to trust.
"How can she swear to something before it happened?" Renee demanded.
Marisol tapped the signature block. "Either the notarial date is wrong, or the statement was prepared as part of a plan before Daniel met you. We need the original records, not a photocopy."
A preliminary check showed the notary's commission number belonged to a woman who had retired six months earlier.
The submission had come through Victor Mercer's outside counsel, who insisted it was a clerical error.
A clerical error could explain a wrong date.
It could not explain the precise description of an encounter that hadn't occurred.
Renee wanted a press conference. Marisol refused. "If you announce these allegations before we preserve the evidence, they'll spend the night destroying it."
"They've already spent weeks destroying my company," Renee answered.
At the next morning's court hearing, Victor sat with the easy confidence of a man certain the room belonged to him.
Claudia sat two seats away, wearing a navy suit and a grieving expression.
She would not look at me.
Victor's lawyer described Renee as isolated, medically fragile, and vulnerable to manipulation.
Every word was technically plausible.
That was why the attack was so effective.
Marisol presented treating-physician statements, Renee's own informed instructions, and questions about the affidavit's execution.
The judge declined to give Victor full emergency control but imposed temporary restrictions on certain transactions while an independent review proceeded.
It wasn't a victory.
It was time.
Outside the courtroom, Victor approached while cameras gathered at the courthouse steps. "You're the electrician," he said.
"That's what the paperwork says."
"You should repair outlets, Mr. Carter. Leave corporate governance to adults."
"You should remember which transactions have audit trails."
His smile narrowed. "A man with a daughter ought to be careful about what he says."
I kept walking rather than give the cameras the confrontation he wanted.
The moment we reached the car, Renee whispered, "He threatened Lily, didn't he?"
"He wants me to think he controls her safety."
"And does he?"
"Not anymore."
But even as I said it, a report arrived from the protective detail.
A surveillance drone had hovered near Lily's temporary residence.
The operator had disappeared before anyone could identify them.
Torres called with worse news.
The secure evidence repository had registered an attempted login using her own credentials while she was physically in court.
Her account had been disabled.
"They're inside our systems," she said.
"Then we need evidence they can't erase remotely."
Renee reached into her bag and removed a small brass key with a red enamel mark. "My father kept an off-site paper archive. Claudia doesn't know it exists."
I stared at the key.
Its red marking was identical to the tag on Lily's music box.
May you like
Sarah had known where the backup belonged.
