Chapter 10 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE SIGNATURE
I slipped the photograph and three transfer records into my coat before Noah entered Room 814.
Camille followed him.
She no longer looked like the polished executive who had stood beside my husband during the board meeting. Her hair was damp from the rain, and she kept rubbing the pale line on her finger where she had removed a ring.
“You told me everything was gone,” Noah said to her.
“It was supposed to be.”
I held up one of the transfers.
The document moved $900,000 from the employee pension reserve to Hartwell Advisory. My electronic signature appeared at the bottom.
It was almost perfect.
Almost.
The real signature authorization system added a seven-digit verification code generated by my private security token. This document had six.
“You forged my approval,” I said.
Camille crossed her arms. “You can’t prove who did it.”
“I don’t have to. The bank’s server records will.”
Noah laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“The bank’s records were purged during the platform migration.”
“Only the customer-facing records. Federal transaction archives remain.”
Camille turned toward him.
“You said she wouldn’t know that.”
“She’s bluffing.”
I placed Rebecca’s photograph on the table.
Camille went pale.
Noah did not look at it.
That frightened me more than surprise would have.
“You were here the week Rebecca died,” I said.
Camille backed toward the door. “I didn’t know what they were going to do.”
The room became completely still.
Noah’s voice dropped.
“Be careful.”
Camille looked at him, then at me.
“Rebecca found the first shell account. She threatened to tell Vivian before the merger.”
“What merger?”
Noah grabbed Camille’s wrist.
She tried to pull away.
“The Ashford-Marlowe acquisition,” Camille said. “Your husband used pension money to inflate the company’s cash position. Rebecca found out.”
Noah tightened his grip.
“You signed the transfers too.”
“Because you told me they were temporary.”
“You enjoyed every dollar.”
I stepped between them.
“Who was driving the second car?”
Camille’s eyes filled, but she was not looking at Noah.
She was staring past him.
The hidden door had opened again.
Marlene Ashford, Noah’s mother, stood in the entrance wearing a cream coat and pearl earrings.
She looked at Rebecca’s photograph without surprise.
May you like
“I was driving,” she said.
Then she closed the door behind her.
