Chapter 9 - The Wrong Side of Power
Julian did not deny the public-relations agency worked for Mercer Capital.
That made Mara angrier.
“You said you were protecting me.”
“I didn’t authorize this.”
“You didn’t authorize Peter Voss to bury my mother’s letter either.”
His expression hardened.
“You think I don’t understand that?”
“I think you’re the man in charge until something criminal happens, then suddenly everybody beneath you operates independently.”
Julian paced once across the apartment.
“I own twenty-eight percent of Mercer Capital. I run it. I do not personally approve every PR contractor.”
“But your people are attacking me.”
“Yes.”
The admission stopped her.
Julian picked up his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the board.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You told me not to confront Peter before we had evidence. You were right.”
“This could be Peter.”
“It could also be somebody else.”
Mara sat down.
The fight drained out of her.
“What if I cannot beat people who own the systems that decide whether I look guilty?”
Julian’s voice softened.
“Then we stop fighting inside their system.”
“That sounds inspirational and meaningless.”
“It probably is.”
Despite herself, Mara almost smiled.
Then she remembered the criminal accusation.
“I could go to jail.”
“You won’t.”
“Don’t promise what money can’t guarantee.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
Again.
Julian’s willingness to admit errors made him harder to hate.
That frightened Mara too.
Her phone buzzed.
A cloud-storage notification.
An old voicemail archive had been restored after she changed devices months earlier.
One saved message was from Rosa.
Recorded six days before her death.
Mara pressed play.
Her mother’s tired voice filled the room.
“Mara, sweetheart, if Grant approaches you after I’m gone, don’t take his money.”
Mara closed her eyes.
Julian sat opposite her.
Rosa continued.
“He will tell you I took money too. Technically, I did. The truth is in the trust account, not my checking account.”
Mara sat forward.
“He needs your signature because mine will not survive review. Remember that. The deed is not the point. The signatures are.”
The recording ended.
Julian whispered, “The signatures.”
Mara opened the USB archive again.
The forged successor-trustee consent.
Then the notarial acknowledgment.
Something bothered her.
“I was in Florida the date this says I signed.”
Julian looked up.
“Can you prove it?”
“My mother was in hospice here. I flew to Tampa for two days because my aunt—”
She stopped.
The personal trip was irrelevant.
What mattered was the flight.
“I have boarding passes.”
They retrieved her airline account.
On the date the consent claimed Mara had appeared before a Manhattan notary at 2:15 p.m., Mara had been on a flight from New York to Tampa from 12:40 to 3:33.
Julian stared at the screen.
“That destroys the notarization.”
“Unless they claim someone else signed.”
“It still proves the document is fraudulent.”
Helen joined by video call.
“This is significant. Preserve the airline records through counsel.”
Mara showed her the notary page.
Helen frowned.
“Notary is Elaine Porter.”
“Who is she?”
“Former Whitmore in-house paralegal.”
“Former?”
“She left three months after this transaction.”
Julian searched.
No current law-firm biography.
No obvious social media.
But an address record placed Elaine in Yonkers.
Mara stood.
“Let’s go.”
Helen immediately said, “No.”
“Why?”
“Because showing up at a potential witness’s home while you are accused of extortion and theft is an excellent way to make my life miserable.”
Mara sank back down.
“Fine.”
“We contact her professionally.”
A message arrived on Julian’s phone.
He read it.
His face went cold.
“What?”
“The Mercer board called an emergency meeting.”
“About me?”
“About the Whitmore acquisition and my ‘undisclosed personal conflict.’”
Mara understood.
“They know about the baby.”
“Yes.”
“Can they remove you?”
“As CEO? With enough votes.”
“Will they?”
Julian stared at the PR agency email.
“Peter is trying.”
The board meeting lasted three hours.
Julian joined remotely.
Mara heard only fragments through the closed study door.
“Conflict…”
“Fiduciary exposure…”
“Reputational crisis…”
“Independent review…”
When he emerged, his tie was loose.
His face looked older.
“Well?”
“They created a special committee.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m prohibited from directing the Whitmore investigation.”
Mara stood.
“Peter?”
“Advising the committee.”
She stared at him.
“The man who took two million dollars is now supervising the investigation into the deal?”
“He hasn’t been confronted with the payment yet.”
“You lost control.”
“Yes.”
The simple admission frightened her.
Until that moment, Julian had seemed like the most powerful person in the story.
Now Grant had reached inside Mercer Capital too.
Helen called again.
Her voice was sharp.
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Bianca’s private investigator preserved metadata on the photographs from Rosa’s house.”
Mara waited.
“The night Grant removed the sewing box, another person was in his car.”
“Who?”
Helen sent the enlarged image.
A passenger sat behind Grant.
Silver hair.
Distinctive profile.
Julian stared.
Mara whispered the name first.
“Peter Voss.”
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The conspiracy was no longer running between two companies.
It had been built across both.
