Chapter 8 - THE WRONG VICTOR HALE
Detective Ruiz took my phone before I could say anything stupid.
She identified herself to the nurse and instructed the hospital to refuse access to anyone not personally approved by Genevieve.
Then she asked security to detain the man if possible without alarming him.
The nurse placed us on hold.
Martin stared at the elevator where Victor had disappeared.
"If someone is using his name, that could mean he is being framed."
Linda shook her head.
"Or it could mean his people use his name because everyone opens doors for it."
"His people?" Ruiz asked.
Linda looked away.
"I don't know how many there are."
"You seem to know quite a lot for someone who spent six years saying nothing."
Linda flinched.
I held up a hand.
"Later."
The nurse returned.
"Detective?"
"Yes."
"The man left."
Ruiz's expression hardened.
"How?"
"He walked away while security was coming from the lobby."
"Camera footage?"
"We should have it."
"Preserve it."
The nurse hesitated.
"There is something else."
"What?"
"He left a folder at the desk."
I felt a chill.
"What kind of folder?"
"Legal documents."
Martin stepped closer to the phone.
"Do not let anyone touch them unnecessarily."
"What do they say?" I asked.
"I only saw the first page."
"Read the title."
Paper rustled.
Then the nurse read slowly.
"Petition for emergency psychiatric evaluation and temporary guardianship of Genevieve Vance."
My anger became physical.
I gripped the edge of a console table.
"Who filed it?"
"It appears to be signed by Thomas Vance."
I almost shouted.
"I signed nothing."
Martin closed his eyes.
"Another forgery."
The nurse continued.
"It says Ms. Vance has displayed escalating paranoia, made false accusations against family members, and may be a danger to herself or others."
My skin went cold.
Evelyn had spent months telling people Genevieve was obsessed with breaking us apart.
She had planted the story socially before anyone needed it legally.
Every dinner argument.
Every tearful phone call.
Every private comment that my daughter was "spiraling."
They were not random complaints.
They were groundwork.
"Do not let anyone move her," I said.
The nurse answered calmly.
"She is not going anywhere without physician approval."
Ruiz arranged for officers to meet hospital security.
Then I called Genevieve.
She answered after two rings.
"Pops?"
Her voice was weak but alert.
"How are you?"
"Head hurts."
"Listen to me."
"That sentence is never good."
I almost smiled.
"Someone just came to the hospital pretending to be Victor."
Silence.
"Did they get to me?"
"No."
"The folder?"
I stared at the phone.
"You know about it?"
"I found a draft on Evelyn's tablet yesterday."
"Why isn't it on the USB?"
"It is."
"Where?"
"BANK, subfolder G."
I wanted to scream at the absurdity of hiding a life-altering document in a subfolder.
Then I remembered she had been building the drive while someone hunted her through a hotel.
"What were they trying to do?"
"Discredit me before I could testify about the forged documents."
"And take Toby?"
A long silence.
"Probably."
I looked toward my grandson, who was drawing circles on a hotel notepad beside Martin.
"Why?"
"Because if I was declared unstable, Evelyn could tell you she was protecting Toby from me."
"I would never allow that."
Genevieve breathed out.
"Pops, two weeks ago you told me I should consider letting Evelyn take Toby for a weekend because I looked exhausted."
I remembered.
Evelyn had offered.
Genevieve had refused sharply.
I had called her ungrateful.
My shame returned like heat under my skin.
"I was wrong."
"Yes."
She did not soften it for me.
I deserved that.
"Genevieve, Linda says Victor was involved with Evelyn six years ago."
Another silence.
"She finally told you."
"You knew?"
"I suspected."
"Why didn't you say his name?"
"Because I wasn't sure."
"You had evidence."
"I had a photograph of him entering Caroline's foundation office after hours."
"Where?"
"MOM, folder V."
"Why does every revelation have a folder inside a folder?"
Despite the pain, she laughed.
"Because I am your daughter."
That was true.
I organized disasters into labeled directories too.
"Stay at the hospital."
"Was planning on it."
"Do not trust anyone who says I sent them unless you hear my voice."
"Same advice to you."
"What does that mean?"
"Evelyn has voice samples."
My stomach tightened.
"For what?"
"I don't know."
"Genevieve."
"She recorded you constantly, Pops."
I thought of the videos Evelyn posted privately for friends.
Dinner conversations.
Car rides.
Birthday toasts.
My voice saying dozens of names and common phrases.
I had never considered that significant.
"Be careful," Genevieve whispered.
"You too."
I ended the call.
Ruiz had been listening.
"Voice cloning is not my favorite development in criminal stupidity."
Martin looked grim.
"If they forged signatures and manufactured medical records, we need to assume everything can be fabricated."
I opened the USB on a laptop disconnected from all networks.
BANK.
Subfolder G.
There it was.
The draft guardianship petition against Genevieve.
Attached was a declaration in my name.
I read the first paragraph.
My daughter has become increasingly irrational since my engagement to Evelyn Kensington.
My hands shook.
The document described private arguments that only three people knew about.
Me.
Genevieve.
Evelyn.
It reframed every conflict as proof Genevieve was unstable.
When Genevieve questioned the age difference, the document called it fixation.
When she challenged Evelyn's interest in my finances, it called it paranoia.
When she objected to Evelyn babysitting Toby, it called it possessive behavior.
At the end was my forged signature.
Under it was a witness line.
Victor Hale.
Martin swore quietly.
"They planned to use each other to authenticate the forgery."
Ruiz pointed at the date.
"Tomorrow."
The petition was dated Sunday, the day after the wedding.
I understood the sequence.
Marriage today.
Private toast afterward.
Something happens to me.
Genevieve is portrayed as unstable.
Victor appears as trusted business partner and witness.
Evelyn becomes grieving or devoted new wife.
Then the forged documents begin moving.
It was not one crime.
It was architecture.
A structure built over years.
Ruiz received a call and stepped aside.
Martin sat opposite me.
"Thomas, I need to ask something unpleasant."
"Join the club."
"How much authority does Victor have over company liquidity?"
"Operationally? A lot."
"How much exactly?"
"He can authorize transfers up to five million without my signature if they are within an approved acquisition budget."
Martin stared at me.
"Five million each?"
"Yes."
"How many open acquisition budgets do you have?"
I thought.
"Seven."
His face went pale.
I took out my phone and called our chief financial officer, Miriam Cho.
She answered immediately.
"Thomas, what is happening at the hotel?"
"Miriam, listen carefully."
"Okay."
"Freeze every discretionary transfer requiring Victor's credentials."
Silence.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because his account authorized four transfers this morning."
My blood chilled.
"How much?"
"Nineteen point six million total."
Martin closed his eyes.
"Where did it go?"
Miriam answered.
"Three escrow accounts tied to the Marston acquisition."
"We closed Marston last month."
"I know."
"Reverse them."
"I'm trying."
"Who approved the receiving accounts?"
Keyboard sounds clicked through the phone.
"One second."
Then she stopped typing.
"Thomas."
"What?"
"The beneficiary registration was added by your executive override."
I stared at the laptop.
"I did not add anything."
"It has your credentials."
"When?"
"Last night at 11:43."
At 11:43 the previous night, I had been asleep in the hotel presidential suite.
Evelyn had been beside me.
May you like
And my phone had been charging on her side of the bed.
