“Whose letter?”
Another pause.
“Charles Whitmore’s.”
The walls seemed to close inward.
Suddenly the photograph made sense in the worst possible way.
Someone had prepared papers in my name.
Someone had discovered something.
Charles had known.
Vanessa had been there.
And Daniel?
I didn’t know.
That uncertainty hurt more than a simple answer.
“What were the assets?”
“The petition didn’t specify.”
“Can we recover the original?”
“I already requested the archived filing.”
“Why?”
“Because after your message this morning, I checked something else.”
I waited.
“Claire, the electronic signature attached to that petition wasn’t yours.”
“Whose was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“But the filing originated from an internal terminal at Whitmore Regional Construction.”
I stood absolutely still.
The Whitmore family business.
By evening, Daniel had called nineteen times.
I finally answered after the girls went to sleep.
“You knew about the January filing?” I asked.
