Chapter 4 - Nine O'Clock
The emergency hearing began at 9:02 a.m.
My mother appeared by video from county detention.
She had changed.
No screaming.
No accusations.
Her hair was brushed.
Her voice trembled just enough.
She looked like a sixty-three-year-old woman devastated by a family misunderstanding.
Her attorney, Preston Shaw, described the assault as “a disputed domestic incident.”
I nearly stood.
Harold touched my arm.
“Don't.”
I looked at him.
“That is my wife they're talking about.”
“I know.”
“Then don't tell me to stay calm.”
“I'm telling you not to give Margaret's lawyer what he wants.”
Across the courtroom, Shaw argued that Irene had accessed confidential documents and manipulated me against my family.
The judge looked unimpressed.
Then he introduced the trust dispute.
That was more serious.
Margaret claimed Dad's final amendment had been executed while he was medically impaired.
Her attorneys produced an earlier version of the trust.
Under that version, Margaret retained joint voting authority after Dad's death.
I had never seen it.
Harold had.
“Is it real?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because it was replaced.”
“By the missing amendment.”
“Yes.”
Shaw stood.
“We have copies of this alleged later amendment, Your Honor. What we do not have is the original.”
I stared at my mother on the monitor.
She looked at me.
Just once.
No expression.
The judge asked where the original was.
Harold answered.
“Stolen from Mr. Wentworth's residence overnight.”
The room changed.
Shaw objected.
The judge ignored him.
“Stolen during the incident involving Mrs. Austin Wentworth?”
“Yes.”
“And the petitioner has been arrested in connection with that incident?”
“Yes.”
Margaret's composed expression cracked.
Only slightly.
The judge ordered no change in trust authority.
But she also refused to dismiss Margaret's petition until the signatures on the available copies could be authenticated.
Temporary freeze.
No extraordinary trust transactions.
No board restructuring.
No asset transfers.
That was enough to stop my mother.
For now.
Outside the courtroom, reporters waited.
I didn't know how they had learned so quickly.
Then I saw Marcus.
He stood near the elevators wearing a charcoal suit.
My best friend.
The man who had been at my wedding.
The man who carried my father's casket beside me.
He walked toward me.
“Austin.”
I wanted to hit him.
Instead I remembered Irene.
Don't confront Marcus alone.
Three detectives were twenty feet away.
I let him come closer.
“I heard about Irene.”
“Did you?”
“I'm sorry.”
“You were in my house last night.”
His face didn't change.
“Excuse me?”
“My camera saw you.”
There.
A tiny shift.
Not enough for anyone else.
Enough for me.
“I stopped by.”
“At twelve-thirty in the morning?”
“Margaret called me.”
“Why?”
“She said Irene had found estate documents and was panicking.”
“My mother called you because my wife found documents?”
“Yes.”
“And you thought midnight was an appropriate time for a CFO visit?”
“She sounded desperate.”
“You disabled my security system.”
“No.”
“My logs say otherwise.”
“Credentials can be copied.”
“What is Desert Crown?”
Now he changed.
He looked toward Harold.
Then back at me.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Answer.”
“A private investment fund.”
“Who owns it?”
“I'm not sure.”
“That sounds unusual for a man who approved payments to it.”
“I approve thousands of transactions.”
“Fourteen million dollars?”
Silence.
“Still not memorable?”
His jaw tightened.
“You've had a difficult night.”
“So has Irene.”
“Austin, do not make business decisions while you're angry.”
“Were you inside my safe?”
“No.”
“Did you take the blue folder?”
“No.”
“You're lying.”
“Austin.”
“I watched my mother drag my pregnant wife across our bedroom floor while my sister tried to smash open a safe.”
Reporters began noticing us.
I stepped closer.
“So you're going to have to forgive me if your professional advice isn't particularly valuable this morning.”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“You don't know what Irene found.”
“Then tell me.”
“You should ask Harold.”
I turned toward the lawyer.
Harold's face changed.
Marcus smiled.
It was small.
But I saw it.
There was something between them.
Something I didn't understand.
“Why Harold?”
Marcus walked toward the elevator.
“Because your father wasn't investigating only your mother.”
The doors opened.
He stepped inside.
Just before they closed, he looked at me.
“He was investigating his attorney too.”
May you like
I turned slowly.
Harold Boone had gone pale.
