Chapter 4 - My Wife Found the Missing Shares
I had spent nineteen years running Brooks Development without knowing I might own more of it than anyone else.
That sounds impossible.
It nearly was.
Our current ownership structure showed Vivian with twenty-six percent.
Me with twenty-four.
Private investors held the rest.
There was no thirty-eight percent block.
Rachel began tracing historical records.
My wife was not an attorney.
She was a forensic accountant.
Suddenly Vivian’s discomfort with my marriage made far more sense.
Rachel noticed patterns.
She noticed missing numbers.
And once Rachel believed something did not add up, sleep became optional.
Three days after meeting Samuel, she woke me at 4:13 a.m.
“Nathan.”
I opened one eye.
“If nobody is dying, morning.”
“I found your shares.”
Both eyes opened.
Downstairs, our dining table looked like an investigation board.
Old annual reports.
State filings.
Trust statements.
Rachel pointed.
“They were diluted.”
“How?”
“Repeated capital calls.”
“Legal?”
“Sometimes.”
“And this time?”
She looked at me.
“Your signature appears on three approvals.”
“I never signed these.”
“I know.”
The dates were from when I was seventeen.
Nineteen.
Twenty-two.
My supposed signatures transferred portions of trust holdings into other entities.
All controlled by Vivian.
I felt physically cold.
“She forged my name.”
Rachel did not answer.
“She forged it.”
“I think so.”
I paced.
“Why?”
“Control.”
Simple.
Brutal.
Then another realization.
“If Mara discovered this…”
“She did.”
“She threatened Vivian.”
“Yes.”
“And died the next morning.”
Rachel looked at me.
Neither of us said murder.
Not yet.
I called Vivian.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
We drove to her house.
The gate stood open.
Front door unlocked.
Inside, drawers were open.
Papers everywhere.
“Mom?”
No response.
Rachel grabbed my arm.
“Don’t touch anything.”
We called police.
Vivian was gone.
Her passport remained.
Car remained.
Phone on kitchen counter.
Nothing obviously stolen.
Then a detective found blood.
Tiny amount.
Beside the study desk.
My anger disappeared.
Whatever Vivian had done, she was still the woman who raised me.
“Find her.”
The detective looked at me.
“We will.”
A camera at the gate showed a vehicle entering at 11:48 p.m.
Black sedan.
License obscured.
One person inside.
At 12:17, it left.
Vivian was visible in the passenger seat.
Alive.
No obvious struggle.
Rachel studied the footage.
“She knew them.”
“How?”
“She walked to the car.”
The detective agreed.
Who did Vivian trust enough to leave with after midnight?
Samuel?
No.
My uncle Raymond?
Possibly.
Then Rachel found a name in Vivian’s desk.
A business card.
Graham Vale — Vale Strategic Holdings
I knew Graham.
Everyone did.
My father’s oldest business partner.
He had been at the birthday.
He was also the man who first introduced Vivian to Robert Brooks.
My supposed father.
I called.
Disconnected.
Vale Strategic’s office said Graham had taken “personal leave.”
Rachel stared at me.
“You see it?”
“What?”
“He disappears the same night she does.”
Police searched.
No immediate result.
Then Samuel called.
“Nathan.”
His voice shook.
“Someone broke into my house.”
My heart jumped.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing valuable.”
“What?”
“The copy of Mara’s file.”
I stood.
“Which copy?”
“The one with the witness statement.”
“What witness?”
Samuel became silent.
“Samuel.”
“A man saw Mara arguing with someone near her car the morning she died.”
My throat tightened.
“Who?”
“I only had his initials.”
“What initials?”
May you like
“G.V.”
Graham Vale.
