I closed my eyes.
The handwritten ledger.
Account numbers.
Dates.
Initials.
Lake Mercer was a label.
Not an account.
A network.
“How many?”
“At the last count Arthur completed?”
“Yes.”
“Two hundred and thirteen financial entities.”
I opened my eyes.
“Across how many countries?”
“Seventeen.”
Liam sat on the edge of the chair arm.
“Why would Dad give Maya control of something like that?”
“He didn’t.”
I stared at Evelyn.
“You just said—”
“He gave Mercer North to Maya.”
“And Mercer North controls Lake Mercer.”
“It was never supposed to.”
My thoughts stopped.
Evelyn removed a folded document from her leather file.
She did not hand it to me.
Detective Ruiz stepped closer first.
“Is that the amendment?”
“Yes.”
“The one with Arthur Carter’s signature?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t give it to her.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Ruiz put on gloves.
She opened the document on the rolling tray.
I looked down.
The signature was my father’s.
I knew every curve.
Arthur Carter.
But I also knew something else.
My father had a habit.
Two taps before signing.
A strange ritual.
When I was little, I used to imitate it.
Tap.
Tap.
Sign.
The habit had followed me into adulthood.
“What date?” I asked.
Ruiz read it.
“March seventeenth, nine years ago.”
I looked at Liam.
His face changed immediately.
“That was impossible.”
Evelyn nodded.
“I know.”
Detective Ruiz looked between us.
“Why?”
Liam answered.
“Dad’s surgery was March sixteenth.”
My heart began pounding.
“He was in intensive care on the seventeenth.”
“Yes.”
“Could he sign?”
“No.”
Evelyn’s voice lowered.
“He was intubated.”
The signature on the page was perfect.
Too perfect.
I leaned closer.
The amendment transferred authorization authority.
It altered one sentence inside a corporate governance document.
One sentence.
Enough to change Mercer North from a dormant holding company into a controlling gatekeeper.
Enough to place Lake Mercer beneath my legal authority.
I read the signature again.
Something bothered me.
Not the shape.
The placement.
“Zoom in.”
Ruiz photographed the page with her tablet.
I enlarged the signature.
My father always signed at a slight upward angle.
This signature did too.
But the line beneath it was straight.
Perfectly straight.
I stared.
“It’s copied.”
Evelyn leaned forward.
“What?”
“It was lifted from another document.”
“How can you tell?”
“The angle.”
Liam frowned.
I pointed.
“Dad turned documents when he signed them.”
A memory came back.
His office.
Me teasing him.
