Chapter 9 - THE STORY THEY SOLD ABOUT ME
By noon, my name was on television.
Not as a beneficiary defending a trust.
Not as a daughter investigating forged documents.
As a military intelligence colonel accused of using her position in a multimillion-dollar family fight.
The first headline used the phrase POWER, MONEY, AND THE PENTAGON.
The second asked whether a senior officer had pressured a defense contractor.
The third displayed the forged PSS transfer form while an anchor said the signature appeared to belong to me.
Appeared.
That one word did a lot of work.
Sarah told me not to watch.
I watched anyway.
A commentator who knew nothing about the case spent six minutes discussing "the optics" of a colonel becoming entangled in a defense company inheritance.
Another speculated that my father may have concealed the ownership structure to benefit me.
Nobody mentioned that the trust predated my current assignment.
Nobody mentioned that I had reported the conflict issue myself.
Nobody mentioned that the trustee whose signature appeared on the transfer said it was forged.
The story was not built to explain.
It was built to stain.
General Ward called at 12:22 p.m.
Her voice was colder than before.
"Do not speak to the press."
"I won't."
"Public affairs will issue a narrow statement confirming that this is a private estate matter and that any allegations concerning misuse of official authority are under standard review."
"Understood."
"You are temporarily reassigned from two procurement-related briefings until security finishes its initial review."
That one hurt.
Those briefings had nothing to do with PSS.
The reassignment was still reasonable because the public allegation itself created distraction.
"Understood, ma'am."
She paused.
"You sound angry."
"I am."
"Good."
That surprised me.
"Use it to become more precise, not less."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And Laura?"
She rarely used my first name.
"Do not confuse being publicly accused with being professionally condemned."
The call ended.
I stared at the dark screen of my phone.
My mother had spent years belittling my career.
Now she had discovered its value as a target.
Nora Feld moved us to an interior conference room away from the windows.
PSS issued its own statement saying no transfer of voting shares had occurred and that the company was cooperating with legal counsel regarding disputed documents.
It did not mention me by name.
That was better than I expected.
Sarah spent the next hour tracing the leak.
The television networks would not identify their source.
One reporter had received a package containing the transfer form, a copy of my mother's allegations, and a photograph of me entering PSS that morning.
That photograph meant someone had been waiting.
"Voss," I said.
"Maybe."
"Sarah."
"I know. Facts."
She sounded tired of reminding me.
I was tired of needing it.
At 2:00 p.m., we appeared remotely before the Chancery Court on our expedited discovery motion.
The judge was Vice Chancellor Nora Whitcomb.
She had the expression of someone who considered theatrics a personal insult.
Marston Capital appeared through counsel.
My mother appeared through her estate lawyers and Robert Gaines.
Leonard Voss appeared through separate counsel.
That alone said enough.
Sarah laid out the sequence carefully.
A disputed guarantee.
A trustee signature denied by the purported signer.
Two bank incidents involving a woman using my identity.
A PSS transfer request containing the same disputed trustee signature.
A hospital witness approached at home.
We asked for preservation and targeted expedited discovery.
Voss's attorney objected.
"My client is a licensed investigator who acted within the scope of lawful private investigative activity."
Vice Chancellor Whitcomb looked over her glasses.
"Does lawful private investigative activity include impersonating a trust beneficiary at a bank?"
The attorney hesitated.
"We dispute the characterization."
"Did your client's employee enter the bank?"
"I am not prepared to concede identity."
Sarah displayed a still image from the bank beside Megan Lyle's company photograph.
The vice chancellor studied them.
"You should become prepared rather quickly."
Voss's attorney stopped objecting after that.
The court ordered preservation of devices, emails, invoices, client instructions, and records related to me, my father, the safe-deposit boxes, Teresa Hall, and the PSS transfer.
The court also ordered Marston to produce the source of the trust certification.
Then my mother's lead attorney stood.
"Your Honor, we request reciprocal discovery into Colonel Prescott's communications with her father during the final year of his life."
Sarah did not object to reasonable estate-related communications.
Then the attorney went farther.
He requested records relating to my official duties, government travel, command communications, and security-clearance disclosures.
Vice Chancellor Whitcomb stared at him.
"Why?"
"They may bear on undue influence and undisclosed financial motives."
"How does Colonel Prescott's classified or official work bear on whether Charles Prescott intended a trust provision?"
The attorney tried again.
"Her access and authority may have contributed to pressure on the decedent."
The vice chancellor's voice became flat.
"Counsel, this court will not become a fishing vessel for protected government information because your client dislikes her daughter's career."
I did not smile.
I wanted to.
The request was denied except for narrowly tailored nonclassified records directly related to the trust or PSS ownership disclosures.
That should have ended the hearing cleanly.
Then Marston's attorney asked to speak.
"Your Honor, Marston has completed an initial internal review."
Everyone went still.
"We have reason to question the provenance of the collateral documents provided to us."
My mother's face on the screen changed.
Gregory was not visible.
Austin was not visible.
"Who provided them?" the judge asked.
Marston's attorney hesitated.
"A financial intermediary acting for Bennett Dynamics."
"Name."
"Gregory Bennett."
There it was.
Not suspicion.
Not inference.
A lender stating in open court that Gregory had delivered the documents.
My mother's lawyer leaned toward her off camera.
Robert Gaines stopped taking notes.
The judge continued.
"Did Marston verify the trust certification with Atlantic Fiduciary?"
"Our preliminary review suggests the confirmation process was handled through the intermediary."
The judge's eyebrows rose.
"Meaning you asked Mr. Bennett to verify the document Mr. Bennett gave you?"
Marston's attorney looked miserable.
"The process appears to have been inadequate."
"That is one word for it."
The judge ordered full production.
The hearing ended at 3:46 p.m.
My phone rang thirty seconds later.
My mother.
I declined it.
She called again.
I declined again.
Then a text appeared.
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT GREGORY DID FOR YOUR FATHER.
I showed Sarah.
She frowned.
Another message arrived.
CHARLES WOULD HAVE LOST EVERYTHING WITHOUT HIM.
Then a third.
ASK DANIEL WHO REALLY OWNED PSS IN 2009.
I looked at Daniel.
He had gone pale.
"What happened in 2009?"
He did not answer immediately.
"Daniel."
He sat down.
"Your father's company nearly failed during the financial crisis."
"I know that."
"You don't know all of it."
"Then tell me."
He looked at the red ledger sitting on the table.
"Gregory arranged emergency financing."
"And?"
"The financing came with an option agreement."
"An option for what?"
Daniel's voice dropped.
"For Gregory to acquire twenty percent of Prescott Strategic Systems if Charles defaulted."
I stared at him.
"Did Dad default?"
"No."
"Then what's the problem?"
Daniel closed his eyes for a moment.
"The original option agreement disappeared fourteen years ago."
Sarah leaned forward.
"Disappeared from where?"
"My firm's archive."
"Was that reported?"
"Yes."
"Who had access?"
Daniel looked at me.
"At the time, one of the junior attorneys assigned to your father's account was Peter Lang."
The same attorney who had transmitted the forged PSS transfer.
The same attorney who had sat silently at my mother's dining room table.
And suddenly one of the five lawyers was not a new participant in the story at all.
May you like
He had been standing near my father's money for fourteen years.
