PART 20 — THE FIRST OFFER WAS HIGHER
Thomas picked up the letter of intent.
“Mr. Lang, did Carol Bennett provide documentation showing she had authority to represent this trust?”
Peter shifted in his chair.
“She provided copies.”
“What copies?”
“A trust summary. A power-of-attorney document. Identification.”
Thomas’s expression hardened.
“Whose power of attorney?”
Peter opened his portfolio again.
“This one.”
He handed over another page.
I recognized my imitation signature immediately.
Mark was named as my attorney-in-fact.
Thomas placed it beside Raymond’s genuine trust.
“Did you verify this?”
“Our legal department requested the original.”
“And?”
“It was never produced.”
The note from Mark’s desk returned to me.
Need original POA before eighteenth. Bruce says title company won’t proceed on copy.
Now I understood.
They hadn’t been preparing to begin something after Christmas.
They were trying to finish something already underway.
I pointed at the $4.75 million figure.
“Was this your first offer?”
Peter hesitated.
“No.”
Thomas looked up.
“What was the first?”
“Six million.”
The room went completely silent.
I stared at him.
“You lowered it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Carol said there were complications with title and family authorization. She offered to accept a lower amount if we could close quickly.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“How quickly?”
“Before December thirty-first.”
There it was again.
December.
Everything had been racing toward the same deadline.
“What happens after December thirty-first?” I asked.
Peter looked uncomfortable.
“Our development schedule changes.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
He nodded.
“A second access route becomes available to us in January.”
Thomas understood.
“So after December, you may no longer need the Harper parcel.”
“Correct.”
I sat back.
Carol had weeks.
Not months.
That explained the rush.
Silver Meadows December eighteenth.
House listing December twenty-seventh.
Land sale before December thirty-first.
Thomas asked, “Where were the proceeds supposed to go?”
Peter turned another page.
“Two accounts.”
My stomach tightened.
“One was an escrow account.”
“And the other?”
He read the number.
Mark and Alicia’s joint account ending in 4418.
I closed my eyes.
The same account listed for the proceeds from my house.
Peter looked confused.
“Mrs. Harper, I assumed you knew.”
“No.”
His face changed.
“I think our legal department needs to speak with Mr. Reed immediately.”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “They do.”
Then my phone rang.
Mark.
I answered.
“Mom, where are you?”
“Thomas’s office.”
“I need you to stay there.”
Something in his voice frightened me.
“Why?”
“Because Alicia finally told me why the college fund disappeared.”
I looked at Thomas.
“What did she say?”
“She didn’t invest seventy-three thousand dollars with Daniel Cross.”
My grip tightened.
“Then where did it go?”
“She gave it to Carol.”
Peter Lang stopped moving.
Thomas leaned closer.
“For what?”
Mark exhaled.
“To cover expenses until the land sold.”
“What expenses?”
“Lawyers. Documents. Bruce. Silver Meadows. Other things she won’t explain.”
I stared at the $4.75 million offer.
The college fund hadn’t caused the plan.
The college fund had financed it.
Then Mark said:
“And Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Alicia says Carol promised to replace the money after closing.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much?”
Mark’s answer came quietly.
“One million dollars.”
Thomas and Peter exchanged a look.
Alicia hadn’t been desperately trying to recover her children’s lost college money.
She had gambled it on taking control of something worth millions.
Then Mark said one more thing.
“Mom, there’s somebody here.”
“At your house?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
Thomas stood.
“Mark, don’t let anyone inside.”
“Too late.”
My heart jumped.
“Who is she?”
Mark was silent for a moment.
Then:
“She says her name is Melissa Grant.”
The Silver Meadows admissions coordinator.
The woman whose name appeared as a witness to a signature I never made.
Thomas reached for his coat.
But Mark wasn’t finished.
“She brought a folder.”
“What kind of folder?”
“I don’t know.”
I heard paper moving through the phone.
Then Mark’s breathing changed.
“What?” I asked.
“Mom…”
“What is it?”
“It’s paperwork from tomorrow’s capacity evaluation.”
Thomas went still.
“That evaluation hasn’t happened yet.”
“I know.”
Mark sounded frightened now.
“That’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
He swallowed.
“The doctor’s conclusion is already filled in.”
My blood ran cold.
“What does it say?”
Mark read the sentence aloud.
Mrs. Dorothy Harper lacks sufficient cognitive capacity to independently manage complex financial and property decisions.
Nobody in Thomas’s office spoke.
The evaluation was scheduled for tomorrow.
But apparently—
someone had already decided I was incompetent today.
