Chapter 16 - Midnight Cedar
We spent the afternoon cross-referencing the trust deeds against Marcus’s vendor contracts. With every document we printed, the web of fraud became clearer. Marcus had presented contracts for signature that had pages swapped after the initial notarization—a classic bait-and-switch scheme that Ben’s cousin, a paralegal in Akron, verified was a class-three felony.
By four in the afternoon, Carter had completely severed his loyalty to his mother. He sat at our kitchen table and signed a formal, sworn affidavit detailing Eleanor’s financial manipulation of his joint accounts.
"If I sign this," Carter said, looking up at Paige, "my mother will cut me out of the trust entirely. The partnership at the firm will be gone by Monday morning."
Paige walked over to him, her movements deliberate, steady, stripped of all the frantic posturing that had defined her for years. She reached out, took the pen from his hand, and placed it firmly back on the signature line.
"Then we’ll rent a house in town," Paige said, her voice quiet but unyielding. "And you can hang out your own shingle. Just like your father should have done before he let her run his life."
Carter looked at her for a long moment, as if seeing his wife for the first time in years, then brought the pen down. He signed with a firm, clean stroke that didn't waver.
Just as the ink dried, Ben’s phone buzzed on the counter. It was Marcus.
Ben put it on speakerphone, setting the device in the center of the wooden table.
"Ben, old boy," Marcus’s voice oozed through the speaker, as smooth and synthetic as corn syrup. "I’m calling as a courtesy. The county recorder closes at five. If I don't have a wire confirmation for sixty-eight thousand dollars by four-thirty, my legal team is filing the encumbrance against the farm. Emily’s little fit has cost my brand serious reputational damage, and Eleanor is not inclined to be charitable."
"Marcus," Ben said, his tone as steady as an oak fence post. "You aren't filing anything."
"Is that a threat, Benjamin? Because my attorneys—"
"I’m looking at your signature on the tax exemption form for the *Central Ohio Bride* media grant," Ben interrupted, his eyes locked on mine. "The one where you claimed this farm was an LLC owned by your holding company. That’s perjury on a federal agricultural filing, Marcus. In this district, that’s five to seven years in federal prison."
Silence fell over the line. For five long seconds, the only sound was Marcus’s shallow, ragged breathing.
"We’ll see you at Eleanor’s house at seven o'clock," Ben added calmly. "Have your release forms ready."
May you like
He tapped the screen, cutting the call without waiting for an answer.
***
