Chapter 3 - THE SIGNATURE THAT COULD DESTROY EVERYTHING
“That's impossible.”
I stared at the document Martin Whitcomb had placed before me.
My signature appeared beneath a paragraph authorizing the transfer of Willow House.
The handwriting looked genuine.
Even the small downward hook on the final letter matched the way I had signed contracts for twenty years.
But I had never approved this sale.
Martin adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses.
“You authorized a restructuring review in September, Grant. This is the resulting transaction.”
“A review isn't permission to sell twenty-four homes.”
“The board interpreted it differently.”
“Then the board made a mistake.”
His expression remained controlled.
“I'm afraid the transaction is more complicated than that.”
Natalie stepped closer.
“Why wasn't I notified?”
Martin glanced at her.
“Because you haven't been associated with this company for five years.”
“I helped create Willow House.”
“And you were compensated when you left the business.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
Natalie had received a divorce settlement. But it hadn't remotely reflected what she'd contributed to our early success.
I'd made certain of that.
At the time, I'd called it protecting my company.
Now I wondered whether I had simply punished an innocent woman.
“Martin,” I said, “who is buying the property?”
“Westridge Holdings.”
“For how much?”
“Six-point-two million dollars.”
My stomach tightened.
Willow House sat on valuable downtown property.
Even five years earlier, independent appraisers had valued the site considerably higher.
“That's less than half its market value.”
Martin closed the folder slightly.
“There are outstanding obligations attached to the property.”
“What obligations?”
“Employee benefit commitments. Deferred maintenance. Outstanding financing.”
I looked at Natalie.
She hadn't taken her eyes off him.
“Ask him about the Founders' Fund,” she said.
Martin's jaw tightened.
The Founders' Fund.
Natalie had established it when we opened our second hotel.
A small percentage of profits went into a protected reserve to help employees with retirement housing and emergency expenses.
It had been her idea.
At first, I'd thought we couldn't afford it.
She'd convinced me we couldn't afford not to.
“What does the Fund have to do with this sale?” I asked.
Martin sighed.
“Grant, discussing confidential financial information in the lobby isn't appropriate.”
“Then we'll discuss it upstairs.”
I turned toward Courtney.
“You're coming too.”
Her face hardened.
“I don't appreciate being treated like a criminal.”
“Neither did Natalie.”
The words hung between us.
For the first time, Courtney had no immediate response.
I went to the sitting room first.
Ben and Owen were sitting together on a velvet sofa.
Owen had arranged three cookies in front of his teddy bear.
Ben was examining a painting of the hotel's first building.
Rosa stood nearby.
“Natalie,” I said, “I need to go upstairs and review the records.”
She glanced toward Martin.
“I'll come with you. Rosa can sit with the boys for a few minutes.”
Ben immediately caught her hand.
“Are we leaving?”
“Not yet, sweetheart.”
He looked at me.
“Are you the boss here?”
“Yes.”
“Then why's everybody so grumpy?”
Despite everything, Rosa gave a small laugh.
I crouched.
“That's a good question.”
Ben studied me seriously.
“Mom says bosses should be nice.”
“She always said that.”
He frowned.
“You know my mom?”
“I used to know her very well.”
Natalie touched his shoulder.
“Rosa will stay right here. We'll be back soon.”
Only when both boys nodded did she follow me.
Upstairs, Martin opened a financial file on the conference room screen.
Willow House had apparently been operating at a loss.
The Founders' Fund showed years of questionable withdrawals.
And a line of financing had been secured against the property.
I stared at the figures.
“Who approved these payments?”
Martin folded his hands.
“Your former wife controlled the Fund before the divorce.”
Natalie went pale.
“You're lying.”
“I'm showing the records.”
“Show the original account statements.”
Martin hesitated.
“The archive is undergoing a systems review.”
“Convenient,” Natalie said.
Courtney crossed her arms.
“She hasn't worked here in years. Why are we letting her interrogate our CFO?”
“Because,” I said, “she's the only person asking questions I should have asked five years ago.”
Martin's expression cooled.
“Grant, I hope you're not allowing personal guilt to influence a major business decision.”
I leaned forward.
“Give me the visitor access records for the finance archive.”
He blinked.
“Why?”
“If Natalie signed a transfer authorization yesterday, someone had to enter the building or use her credentials.”
The security director joined us and displayed the electronic entry log.
I scanned the page.
Then I stopped.
Yesterday.
10:14 p.m.
Finance archive.
Employee credential: NATALIE HOLLOWAY.
Natalie stared at the screen.
“That isn't possible.”
Courtney gave a sharp little laugh.
“Well, apparently you did come here.”
“I was home with my sons.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
I turned toward Courtney.
“Don't.”
Martin pointed at the screen.
“The system records are clear.”
But something bothered me.
Natalie's old credentials should have been permanently disabled after our divorce.
I had personally ordered her access removed.
“Who reactivated her badge?” I asked.
The security director opened another page.
His eyebrows drew together.
“That's strange.”
“What?”
“The badge wasn't reactivated.”
He looked toward Martin.
“It's been active the entire time.”
I felt cold.
Five years.
Someone had preserved access under my ex-wife's name for five years.
“Show me every time that badge was used,” I ordered.
The screen filled with entries.
Dozens of visits.
Late nights.
Weekend mornings.
Finance archive.
Executive offices.
Records storage.
All under Natalie's name.
Then the security director selected an entry from three months earlier.
“That evening the camera near the archive was working.”
A grainy image appeared.
A person moved through the corridor carrying a dark navy coat over one arm.
Natalie made a small sound.
I turned.
She was staring at the screen.
“What's wrong?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“That coat.”
“What about it?”
She looked directly at Courtney.
“That's the coat I left in your office the day Grant threw me out.”
Courtney's mouth opened.
But Natalie wasn't finished.
“I embroidered my initials inside the collar. I asked you to send it back to me.”
May you like
She stepped closer to the screen.
“And you told me it had been destroyed.”
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