Chapter 4 - THE BOARDROOM GHOSTAt 8:57 A.M., Serena stood at the head of the Vance Industrial boardroom wearing black.
Two cruisers.
Four officers.
No sirens.
That somehow made it worse.
Dad grabbed his overnight bag.
“What is in there?”
“Later.”
“Dad.”
“Emily, trust me.”
I hated those words.
People usually said trust me immediately before giving you a reason not to.
Someone knocked.
“Police department.”
I walked toward the door.
Dad caught my arm.
“If they ask whether I'm here, don't lie.”
“That's reassuring.”
“They aren't here because I'm dead.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Serena wouldn't send police to investigate her own lie.”
He looked toward the bag.
“They're here for something else.”
I opened the door.
Two officers stood outside, a man and a woman. The woman introduced herself as Officer Delgado.
“Ms. Vance?”
“Yes.”
“We're looking for Harold Vance.”
I stepped aside.
Dad appeared behind me.
Officer Delgado's eyebrows lifted.
So apparently nobody had told the police he was dead.
“Mr. Vance, we've received a report that you may be vulnerable and possibly being prevented from returning home.”
I actually laughed.
Dad did not.
“Who made that report?”
“We can't disclose the complainant.”
“Was it my daughter Serena?”
The officers exchanged a glance.
Dad nodded.
“Thought so.”
Officer Delgado remained professional.
“Sir, are you here voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel safe?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone prevented you from accessing your phone, vehicle, finances, or medication?”
“No.”
“Would you mind speaking privately?”
Dad agreed.
They walked onto the porch.
I watched through the window while the second pair of officers waited near their cars.
My phone rang again.
Serena.
This time I answered without speaking.
“You called the police?”
She sounded furious.
“Emily, what have you done?”
“Interesting question from someone who told me Dad was dead.”
Silence.
Then Serena lowered her voice.
“You misunderstood me.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Say that again.”
“I said Dad was dead to me.”
I stared toward the porch.
“You said a doctor believed his heart stopped.”
“You were emotional.”
“I was eating eggs.”
“You've always twisted my words.”
That almost impressed me.
Serena could lie with the evidence still warm in her hands.
“Why did you send police?”
“Because Dad is confused.”
“He knows what day it is.”
“He's seventy-two.”
“That isn't a diagnosis.”
“He's been behaving irrationally.”
“Such as?”
“Accusing people.”
“Of stealing seventeen million dollars?”
Silence.
Then her voice changed.
The fake grief disappeared.
“Emily, you have no idea what you're involved in.”
“Then explain it.”
“Dad has become paranoid.”
“Is Northbridge imaginary?”
“No.”
“Are there seventeen million dollars in transfers?”
“You don't understand the transactions.”
“Then help me understand.”
She exhaled sharply.
“Northbridge is a restructuring vehicle.”
“Why did Dad say it doesn't exist?”
“Because he doesn't understand modern corporate finance.”
I looked through the window at my father.
He had founded the company from nothing.
Serena once called me because she didn't understand why the stock market was closed on Christmas.
“Who owns Northbridge?” I asked.
“That's confidential.”
“Who owns it?”
Another silence.
Then:
“Grant and I have an interest.”
There it was.
Her husband.
“Dad's money went into a company you and Grant own?”
“It isn't Dad's money. It's corporate capital.”
“Seventeen million dollars.”
“You're being dramatic.”
“You told me our living father was dead.”
“Because I knew you'd react like this!”
Her voice finally cracked.
Not with sadness.
With anger.
“You have spent your entire life being protected because you're the sweet younger daughter. Dad forgives everything you do. He paid for your college, helped you after the divorce, gave you a job when you needed one—”
“I haven't worked for Vance Industrial in nine years.”
“Exactly. You walked away.”
“So?”
“So people who walk away don't get to come back and take half.”
My pulse slowed.
There it was again.
Not grief.
Fear.
“Half of what?”
Serena realized she had said too much.
“Nothing.”
“Serena.”
“I have to go.”
“Did you forge my signature?”
The line went quiet.
Then she whispered:
“You should sign the waiver.”
“Why?”
“Because fifty thousand dollars is more than you deserve.”
She hung up.
I stood motionless.
Dad came back inside.
“What did she say?”
I told him.
Every word.
When I mentioned Serena saying I didn't get to “take half,” he closed his eyes.
“She knows about the trust.”
“Obviously.”
“No. I mean she knows more than I thought.”
Dad carried his bag into the kitchen and placed it on the table.
Then he locked the back door.
Closed the blinds.
And pulled out a red leather notebook.
It looked ancient.
The corners were worn. Several pages were stuffed with receipts and folded papers.
“The red ledger?”
He nodded.
“What is it?”
“My insurance policy.”
He opened it.
Inside were handwritten dates, names, transaction amounts, account numbers, and notes going back almost three years.
“This is why you came to my house.”
“Yes.”
“Why not go to police?”
“Because until yesterday, I didn't know if I had evidence of a crime.”
“And now?”
“Now I know someone forged your signature.”
He turned several pages.
“Three years ago, Vance Industrial started losing money in places that made no sense. Vendor invoices increased. Shipping expenses doubled. Consulting fees appeared for companies I'd never heard of.”
“Northbridge?”
“That came later.”
He tapped several names.
“Granite Peak Consulting. Alden Logistics. Hawthorne Strategic.”
I recognized none.
“They're fake?”
“Shell companies, I think.”
“Owned by Serena?”
“I couldn't prove it.”
He turned another page.
“Then six months ago, Serena convinced the board that we needed a strategic investment vehicle. Northbridge Capital.”
“You voted for it?”
“I was recovering from surgery. Serena brought papers to the hospital.”
That explained something.
Dad had undergone a hip replacement.
For three weeks, Serena had suddenly become the devoted daughter.
“I signed preliminary authorization for five million.”
“But seventeen disappeared.”
He nodded.
“And two days ago?”
“I discovered Serena had submitted an amended authorization.”
He removed a photocopy.
His signature appeared at the bottom.
“Is that yours?”
“No.”
My stomach turned.
“So both of us have forged signatures.”
Dad nodded.
“That's why I came here.”
“Why me?”
His expression softened.
“Because I didn't know who else I could trust.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Dad had hundreds of employees.
Lawyers.
Executives.
Friends.
Yet at seventy-two years old, he had driven through a snowstorm carrying evidence in an overnight bag because he trusted one person.
Me.
“What about Rebecca?”
Dad's expression darkened.
“She warned us.”
“She also witnessed the forged trust transfer.”
“I know.”
“So whose side is she on?”
“I don't know.”
Before he could say more, my laptop chimed from the counter.
An email.
Subject:
NOTICE OF EMERGENCY BOARD MEETING — VANCE INDUSTRIAL
Dad opened it.
The meeting was scheduled for 9:00 A.M.
Less than two hours away.
Agenda:
Temporary removal of Harold Vance as Chairman and CEO due to incapacity.
Replacement:
Serena Vance Mercer.
Dad stared at the screen.
I felt my stomach drop.
“They're declaring you incompetent.”
“Apparently.”
“And once you're removed?”
“She controls the company.”
“And Northbridge?”
“She can bury everything.”
I looked at the clock.
7:08 A.M.
“What happens if you show up?”
Dad slowly smiled.
It was the first smile I had seen since Serena called.
“I imagine breakfast will become very uncomfortable.”
We had just over an hour to prepare.
Dad called his attorney, Martin Whitaker.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
He called the company's CFO.
Voicemail.
General counsel.
Voicemail.
Three board members.
Nothing.
Finally, on the fourth call, someone answered.
Richard Hall.
He had served on the board for fifteen years.
“Harold?”
“Yes.”
A long silence.
Then Richard whispered:
“Jesus Christ.”
Dad frowned.
“What?”
“Serena told us you were hospitalized.”
Dad's expression hardened.
“With what?”
“She said you had a neurological episode. That you were confused, aggressive, possibly suffering from dementia.”
I watched my father's hand tighten around the phone.
Richard continued.
“She said Emily abducted you from your home.”
I nearly choked.
Dad looked at me.
The police report.
That was why.
Serena wasn't merely trying to take the company.
She was building a story.
A confused elderly man.
An unstable younger daughter.
A responsible older daughter forced to step in.
Richard lowered his voice.
“Harold, don't come to the office.”
“Why?”
“Because Serena brought a physician.”
“What physician?”
“Dr. Adrian Keller.”
Dad went still.
I knew that name.
He was Grant Mercer's private doctor.
Richard said, “There's a competency evaluation already attached to the board packet.”
Dad whispered, “He has never examined me.”
“I know.”
“And the report?”
“Says you suffer from significant cognitive decline.”
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
Serena had planned everything.
The death story wasn't meant for the public.
It was meant for me.
Get me frightened.
Get me grieving.
Get my signature.
Meanwhile, the board would remove Dad.
Once she controlled the company, Serena would control records, employees, legal strategy, and millions in assets.
Richard's final words changed our plan.
“Harold, there's something else.”
“What?”
“Security has instructions to prevent you from entering the building.”
Dad looked toward the red ledger.
Then at me.
I expected him to explode.
Instead, he smiled.
“Good.”
Richard sounded confused.
“Good?”
May you like
Dad closed the ledger.
“Then we won't go through the front door.”
Related Stories
