Chapter 5 - THE STATEMENT
Paige sent me the statement forty minutes later.
She did not send it directly.
Her newly retained attorney, Denise Harper, emailed it to Lena with a short cover note saying Paige wanted to preserve evidence and would cooperate through counsel.
That was the first intelligent decision anyone on Alistair's side had made in two days.
The statement was dated eleven months earlier.
It was three pages long.
The language was polished, formal, and obviously not written by Paige.
It said she understood that Alistair Finch was legally married to Jacqueline Ross.
It said Jacqueline had long been aware of Alistair's relationship with Paige.
It said all adults involved had mutually agreed to keep their private arrangement confidential.
It said Jacqueline had voluntarily chosen not to seek a divorce.
Then came the sentence that made my stomach turn.
Jacqueline Ross has expressly acknowledged Matthew Monroe Finch as Alistair's son and has never objected to Alistair providing financial support for the child.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
"This is designed to neutralize dissipation claims," I said.
Lena nodded.
"And reputational fallout."
"And questions from investors."
"Potentially."
At the bottom of the document was Paige's signature.
Below it was a witness signature.
George Finch.
I stared at my father-in-law's name.
"He witnessed it."
"Apparently."
"He knew exactly what this was."
Lena folded her hands.
"It proves he witnessed Paige signing this statement."
"I know."
I hated that she had to remind me to separate what I knew emotionally from what a document actually proved.
But that discipline was why I had hired her.
Paige had also provided two text messages from Alistair.
The first was from the morning after she signed.
Thank you for handling that.
The second was from later that day.
Dad says this protects everyone if Jackie gets emotional later.
I read that sentence until the words stopped looking like English.
"If Jackie gets emotional later."
That was how they had described the day I might discover my husband had a child with another woman.
Not devastated.
Not betrayed.
Emotional.
Something inconvenient to manage.
Lena watched me silently.
"I'm fine," I said.
"I didn't ask."
"You were thinking it."
"I was thinking you should not call George right now."
"That too."
My phone rang.
It was Martha.
Lena raised one eyebrow.
I put the call on speaker.
"Jacqueline?"
Martha sounded breathless.
"Yes."
"Alistair is being discharged tomorrow."
"Good."
"He cannot be alone."
I waited.
"His father and I think he should recover at your house."
The audacity almost required admiration.
"My house?"
"Your marital home."
"I understood you."
"He is your husband."
"You remembered."
Martha ignored that.
"Whatever has happened, he is injured."
"Then perhaps Paige can care for him."
Silence.
"That would look terrible," Martha said.
Lena closed her eyes as if the sentence physically hurt.
"To whom?" I asked.
"People."
"Which people?"
"Investors."
There it was again.
Every moral question in the Finch family eventually became a public relations problem.
"So you want me to nurse my husband in our home while he continues a relationship with the mother of his child because it would reassure investors."
Martha's voice sharpened.
"You are twisting my words."
"I'm repeating them."
"This company employs people."
"You keep saying that as if employees forged my signature."
Lena's head snapped toward me.
Martha stopped breathing.
I realized I had given away more than Lena wanted.
But the silence on the line told me the damage was useful.
"What are you talking about?" Martha asked.
"You tell me."
"I have no idea."
"Then there's nothing to discuss."
"Jacqueline, listen to me."
Her voice dropped into the maternal tone she used when she wanted obedience to sound like concern.
"You do not want to destroy your marriage because of one terrible mistake."
"Which mistake?"
"Paige."
"Matty is three."
"I know."
"Three years is a long mistake."
"Men make foolish choices."
I felt my anger become colder.
"Did George tell you about the statement Paige signed?"
Martha said nothing.
"The one claiming I knew about Matty."
Still nothing.
"George witnessed it."
Martha's voice became barely audible.
"I need to go."
"Of course you do."
She hung up.
Lena stared at the phone.
"That was not nothing."
"No."
"She knew about the document."
"Or she just learned enough from what I said to be frightened."
"Good."
She pointed at me.
"Keep thinking like that."
At four thirty, Nolan's lawyer called Lena.
His name was Samuel Brooks.
He represented executives in internal investigations and corporate disputes.
He wanted to arrange a formal exchange of information through counsel.
More importantly, he confirmed that Nolan had preserved the electronic closing room and access logs.
The forged guarantee had been uploaded at 11:43 p.m. three nights earlier.
The credentials belonged to Alistair.
The access originated from the IP address assigned to our home internet account.
My blood ran cold.
"He uploaded it from our house," I said.
Samuel corrected me immediately.
"The log indicates the connection came from the home's internet service."
"It doesn't establish who touched the device."
"Correct."
"Was I home?"
Lena looked at me.
I opened my calendar.
That night I had been at a bar association dinner until nearly midnight.
There were photographs.
There were dozens of witnesses.
There was a parking receipt from downtown.
Alistair had told me he was tired and staying home.
"I wasn't there," I said.
Samuel continued.
"Nolan also located a scan source tag in the PDF."
"From what device?"
"A multifunction printer registered on the Finch Dynamics remote device list."
"Where is it?"
"According to inventory, the printer is in Alistair's home office."
My home office.
The place where I had scanned the property tax appeal containing the original version of my signature.
The copied signature had been created under my roof while I was at a professional dinner.
I did not know yet who had done it.
But the circle was shrinking.
"Anything on the reserve account?" Lena asked.
Samuel was careful.
"Nolan found wire instructions approved through Alistair's authority."
"Recipients?"
"One was Meridian Strategic Services."
"Amount?"
"Nine hundred thousand."
I looked at the property records.
"And the second?"
"North Lake Residential."
"Amount?"
"One point one eight million."
The lake house had cost 1.15 million.
No one in the room said it.
No one needed to.
The transaction did not prove motive.
It did create a breathtaking timeline.
"When were the wires sent?" I asked.
"The morning of the accident."
I remembered the recording.
When the new money comes in, I'll end things with her.
First, I need her to sign the company guarantees.
Alistair had moved more than two million dollars out of the reserve before the crash.
Then he had driven somewhere with Paige and talked about replacing me after the investment closed.
"Where was he going when he crashed?" I asked.
Nobody knew.
That question stayed with me.
I opened the accident report again.
The crash happened on northbound Interstate 35W.
Alistair had told the hospital he had been driving home from a client meeting.
But our house was southwest of the crash location.
The lake house was west.
Paige lived south.
Where had he been going north?
I called Gavin.
"I need you to look at the accident route."
"For what?"
"Anything connected to Alistair, North Lake, Meridian, George, or Finch Dynamics north of the crash."
"That's a large area."
"Start with property and registered offices."
"Got it."
That evening, I went home and changed the password on my personal email.
I changed the password on my cloud storage.
I preserved the home office computer without opening Alistair's private user profile.
Then I locked my legal files in a cabinet.
At eight twenty, someone knocked on the front door.
I checked the camera.
George stood on the porch.
He was alone.
I almost ignored him.
Then he lifted a thick manila envelope toward the camera.
I opened the door but did not invite him inside.
"What do you want?"
George looked exhausted.
"To fix this before you make it worse."
"For whom?"
"For everyone."
He held out the envelope.
"What's that?"
"A proposal."
"From Alistair?"
"From the family."
I did not take it.
"Say it out loud."
George's jaw tightened.
"We will transfer the Edina condo to you."
I stared at him.
"Paige's home."
"North Lake's property."
"Keep going."
"You will also receive one million dollars when the investment closes."
"In exchange for what?"
"You sign the guarantee."
There it was.
"Anything else?"
He looked away.
"You agree not to make public allegations about the family."
"Public allegations like what?"
"About Alistair and Paige."
"Those aren't allegations."
"You know what I mean."
"Do I also agree to pretend I knew about Matty?"
George went still.
I knew then that the statement had not been an impulsive idea.
It was part of a broader plan.
"You need to think about your future," he said.
"I am."
"One million dollars is more than enough to start over."
I almost smiled.
"George, I earn my own money."
"Everyone has a price."
The sentence came out before he could stop it.
I stared at him.
He immediately understood what he had revealed.
"Not me," I said.
Then I closed the door.
He knocked once.
I ignored it.
My phone rang five minutes later.
Gavin.
"I found something north of the crash."
"What?"
"A storage facility in Blaine."
"Connected how?"
"One unit is leased to Meridian Strategic Services."
"Anything else?"
"The emergency contact on the lease is Martha Finch."
I looked toward the dark front window where George had been standing moments earlier.
The family had offered me a million dollars to stop asking questions.
Now I knew exactly what question I would ask next.
May you like
What were they storing in Blaine?
