Chapter 9 - THE SHARES THAT EXISTED TWICE
By late afternoon, NexusCore's stock had fallen twenty-three percent.
The financial networks called it uncertainty.
The business papers called it a governance crisis.
Social media called it everything else.
From my hospital bed, I watched a photograph of Matthew appear beside a red market chart while commentators debated whether the company could survive without its founder.
They meant him.
Nobody mentioned that the original incorporation documents named two founders.
One of them was lying under a hospital blanket with a fractured wrist.
Sam muted the television.
"Stop watching that."
"It's my company too, apparently."
"That fact is still being established."
"The Swiss bank seems convinced."
Dad stood near the window with three pages of notes from a call with European counsel.
He had been on the phone for nearly an hour.
When he turned around, his face was even harder than before.
"The bank has a notarized beneficial ownership certificate identifying you as the owner of twelve and a half percent of NexusCore's original founder stock."
"Signed by me?"
"Yes."
"Forged?"
"Almost certainly."
"And they loaned one hundred and fifty million against it?"
"A revolving facility with a maximum commitment of one hundred and fifty million."
"How much was actually borrowed?"
Dad looked at Sam.
That look again.
"Say it."
"One hundred and twenty-eight million."
My stomach tightened.
"Where did it go?"
"Thirty-one million came back to NexusCore through entities labeled technology vendors."
"And the rest?"
"Still tracing it."
"Matthew stole nearly a hundred million dollars?"
Sam raised a hand.
"We are not using the word stole until we know the source and legal ownership."
"He forged my name."
"That part looks stronger."
"How comforting."
Dad sat beside the bed.
"There is another issue."
"Of course there is."
"If the shares are legally yours, the bank's collateral documents may attach to your property."
I stared at him.
"So Matthew stole my shares, pretended they were his, then secretly pretended they were mine again so he could borrow against them."
"That is one working theory."
"And I could owe the bank?"
"Not personally if the guarantee is fraudulent."
"If."
Dad's expression softened.
"Clare, there is no scenario in which I let a bank collect one dollar from you on a forged guarantee."
"This isn't about whether you can pay it."
"I know."
"I don't want you buying my way out."
"I know."
"Do you?"
He held my gaze.
"Yes."
His answer was quiet.
"Because seven years ago I tried to solve your problems with enough money and influence that I forgot you wanted to solve them yourself."
That surprised me.
Dad rarely admitted mistakes while they were still alive.
"This time," he continued, "I will stand next to you."
He squeezed my hand.
"Not in front of you."
My throat tightened.
Before I could answer, Sam's phone rang.
He listened for less than thirty seconds.
Then he swore.
"What?"
"Matthew was released pending arraignment conditions."
My body went cold.
Dad stood.
"Conditions?"
"No direct contact with Clare."
"Distance from the penthouse?"
"Temporary stay-away provision."
"Weapons?"
"The cane is evidence."
Dad's voice sharpened.
"I asked about weapons generally."
Sam held up one hand.
"The order is being finalized."
I looked toward the door.
It was irrational.
The hospital had security.
Henderson had doubled the detail.
Matthew could not simply walk into my room.
My body did not care about rationality.
It remembered the sound of the cane.
Mom noticed.
She moved closer.
"He isn't coming near you."
I nodded.
Then the hospital room phone rang.
Everyone froze.
Nobody had given the number to anyone.
Dad answered.
"Hello?"
A pause.
His expression darkened.
"No."
He hung up.
"Who was it?"
"Hospital reception."
"Why?"
"A flower delivery."
I laughed without humor.
"Matthew?"
Dad did not answer.
A minute later, Henderson entered carrying a florist card sealed in a clear plastic bag.
"Delivery was left downstairs by a courier."
Sam read it through the plastic.
GET WELL SOON.
WE BOTH KNOW YOU NEVER FINISH WHAT YOU START.
There was no signature.
My pulse accelerated.
"That's him."
Sam looked at me.
"How do you know?"
"He used to say that whenever we argued about graduate school."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Give it to Ruiz."
Henderson nodded.
"Already called her."
He hesitated.
"There is something else."
"What?"
"The florist order was paid with a corporate card."
"NexusCore?"
"No."
Henderson handed Sam a photograph of the receipt.
The cardholder name was CLARE STERLING HAYES.
I stared at it.
"I don't have that card."
"Bank?"
Dad asked.
"Sterling Private."
Dad's face became still.
"Impossible."
"Why?"
"Because Sterling Private closed every inactive family card tied to your profile when you left."
Henderson shook his head.
"This card was opened three years ago."
I felt a chill move across my skin.
Three years ago.
The same year as the Swiss guarantee.
"Who opened it?"
"Online application."
"Address?"
Henderson looked at the receipt.
"A post-office box in Delaware."
Sam stood.
"Same state as Lauren's entity."
The coincidences were becoming a map.
Dad called Sterling Private's fraud department.
Within twenty minutes, the card was frozen and every statement was delivered to Sam electronically.
The balance was not large.
That almost made it worse.
For three years, someone had used a credit card in my name for ordinary things.
Hotels.
Restaurants.
Gas.
Baby stores.
A pediatric practice on the Upper East Side.
I stopped at that charge.
"Noah."
Mom looked at me.
"Lauren's baby?"
I nodded.
The next charge was from a jeweler.
Then a private car service.
Then the Hamptons property-management company.
The house registered to Lauren.
Matthew had not merely hidden an affair.
He had financed pieces of it through an identity he stole from me.
I kept scrolling.
One recurring charge appeared every month.
$4,850.
Recipient: WESTHAVEN STORAGE LLC.
"What is Westhaven?"
Sam searched.
"Private records storage in New Jersey."
Dad looked at Henderson.
"Find out what is stored there."
Henderson nodded.
"We will need legal authority if the unit isn't ours."
"Then find out whose name is on it."
Twenty minutes later, he returned with the answer.
Mine.
Again.
The unit had been opened using a scanned passport and electronic signature.
My old passport.
The one that disappeared during our move from Queens.
I had blamed myself for losing it.
By five-thirty, Detective Ruiz had a warrant application in motion related to suspected identity theft and document fraud.
By six-ten, NexusCore's audit committee placed Matthew on unpaid leave and revoked his remote credentials.
By six-twenty, the stock closed down thirty-one percent.
The empire was not collapsing because Dad had made a few angry calls anymore.
It was collapsing because every wall Matthew touched seemed to contain another hidden door.
At seven-oh-three, my temporary phone received a message from Evan Mercer.
WE FOUND SOMETHING IN THE TREASURY LOGS.
I called him.
He answered whispering.
"Where are you?"
"Office."
"Why are you whispering?"
"Because someone is in my office."
My blood went cold.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
A sound came through the line.
A drawer opening.
Then another.
"Evan, get out."
"The hallway is blocked."
Dad was already signaling Henderson.
"Call building security," I said.
"I did."
"And?"
"The security desk says nobody is on my floor."
A door clicked in the background.
Evan stopped breathing.
Then a man's voice came faintly through the phone.
"Mr. Mercer?"
May you like
Evan whispered one sentence before the line went dead.
"He knows about Harbor."
