Chapter 4: My Son's Signature
Victor took us to a private office adjacent to the cellar.
It had a leather sofa, a conference table, and a wall of security monitors.
Harlow refused to sit.
"I want my attorney.""
"You're welcome to contact one," Victor said.
"I want Dashiell's attorney too.""
Dashiell looked at her.
"Why would you need my attorney?""
She ignored him.
I sat at the conference table and placed Edward's journal in front of me.
Andre stood beside the door.
Victor brought up the security footage from the afternoon.
The first recording showed Harlow entering the cellar corridor at 3:16 p.m.
She looked over her shoulder.
Then she entered using her access code.
At 3:24 p.m., she came out carrying a small black case.
Victor paused the footage.
"Is that you?""
Harlow crossed her arms.
"It could be anyone.""
"Mrs. Bellmont, we have your access record.""
"Then perhaps your system is wrong.""
Victor played the next recording.
It showed Harlow entering the service elevator.
She opened the case.
Inside was a wooden wine box.
Dashiell leaned forward.
"Is that the missing Latour?""
Harlow snapped.
"Don't start.""
"Answer me!""
She glared at him.
"You have no idea what you're talking about.""
I watched the recording again.
"Victor, can you follow the case?""
He switched cameras.
The footage showed Harlow leaving the elevator on level six.
Then she entered a private banquet office.
The camera outside the office showed her leaving seventeen minutes later.
She was no longer carrying the case.
Victor looked at Andre.
"Who had access to that office?""
Andre checked the personnel record.
"Several managers.""
Dashiell swallowed.
"That office is mine.""
Nobody spoke.
I turned toward my son.
"You told me you were in a management meeting.""
"I was.""
"Then how did your wife get into your office?""
He looked at Harlow.
She stared back at him.
"Don't you dare," she whispered.
Dashiell's voice became quiet.
"Harlow, what did you put in my office?""
She walked toward him.
"Nothing.""
"Then why did the camera show you leaving without the case?""
"I told you. I don't know.""
Victor opened another file.
"There's something else.""
He turned the screen toward us.
It was a document.
A transfer authorization.
The document showed a proposed sale of the Meridian Group's controlling shares to a private investment company.
The signature at the bottom belonged to Dashiell.
My son went pale.
"I didn't sign that.""
Victor enlarged the document.
"Your electronic signature is attached.""
"I said I didn't sign it!""
Harlow stepped forward.
"Maybe you forgot.""
Dashiell turned sharply.
"I would remember signing away an entire hotel group!""
She looked at him.
"Don't be dramatic.""
I studied the document.
The proposed transfer date was January 2.
Two days away.
The buyer was listed as Northstar Hospitality Partners.
I had never heard of them.
"Who owns this company?"" I asked.
Victor searched the record.
"It's a private investment firm registered in Delaware.""
"Who represents them?""
He clicked another page.
A name appeared.
Harlow Bellmont.
The room went completely silent.
Dashiell stared at the screen.
Then at his wife.
"You were selling the hotel?""
Harlow shook her head.
"Not exactly.""
"Not exactly?""
"It was a proposal.""
"With my signature?""
She lifted her chin.
"You would have agreed eventually.""
He looked stunned.
"You forged my signature?""
"Don't use that word!""
"Then what word should I use?""
She slammed her hand against the table.
"You were never going to become anything at that hotel! Your mother controlled everything, and your father made sure you spent your entire life waiting for permission!""
I felt something cold move through my chest.
There it was.
The resentment.
The real reason.
Harlow had never considered the Meridian a family business.
She had considered it an opportunity.
Dashiell looked at her.
"My father built that company.""
"And then he died!""
The words landed like a slap.
Dashiell went still.
Harlow continued.
"Your mother kept everything locked away. You were given a job, not a future. I was trying to give us something better.""
I rose slowly.
"By stealing it?""
She turned toward me.
"You don't understand.""
"I understand perfectly.""
"No, you don't! You have no idea what it costs to maintain a lifestyle like ours.""
I stared at her red dress, now stained with wine.
"You mean the lifestyle you couldn't afford without my husband's money?""
Her face reddened.
"You think you're better than me because you married an old man with money?""
I didn't answer.
She stepped closer.
"Your son deserves something. I deserve something. And you can't keep everything forever.""
Dashiell looked at her.
"Did you use my password to access the ownership records?""
She hesitated.
That was enough.
"Answer me.""
"Yes.""
"Did you forge my signature?""
She looked away.
He pushed his chair back.
"Oh my God.""
I picked up Edward's journal.
"Harlow, there's something you should understand.""
She laughed bitterly.
"What now?""
"My husband didn't leave this business to you.""
"He didn't leave it to you either. You're just a woman with a sentimental attachment to an old hotel.""
I looked at Victor.
"Please contact the trust's legal representative.""
Harlow laughed again.
"Go ahead. You'll discover that the documents have already been submitted.""
Victor glanced at the computer.
Then his expression changed.
"Mrs. Bellmont...""
"What?""
He turned the monitor toward me.
"The proposed transfer was filed electronically at 11:52 p.m.""
I looked at the timestamp.
It had happened while Harlow was standing on the terrace.
While she was pouring wine over the floor.
While everyone thought she was simply celebrating New Year's Eve.
Dashiell whispered:
"Who approved it?""
Victor enlarged the final page.
There were two signatures.
Harlow's.
And another.
My son's.
I looked at Dashiell.
He shook his head violently.
"Mom, I swear I didn't sign that.""
Then Victor opened the authentication record.
And a small notification appeared beside the approval.
<text color="secondary" size="sm" weight="medium">AUTHORIZATION VERIFIED — DEVICE REGISTERED TO DASHIELL BELLMONT</text>
I slowly turned toward my son.
He looked as frightened as I felt.
But the next thing Harlow said made me realize that the problem was much bigger than a forged signature.
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"Don't worry, Dashiell," she whispered.
"They don't know about the second account.""
