Vanessa’s Fatal Paper Trail
I studied the signature on the power-of-attorney form, my thumb hovering just above the fresh ink. Vanessa Sterling’s name was there, and beside it sat a date I couldn’t explain away: October 12. Our father, Richard, had suffered his stroke on October 9. Since then, he had been unconscious, dependent on a ventilator in intensive care. He could not have signed over his authority three days later.
“Give me those,” Vanessa ordered. Her voice snapped across the room and broke into my thoughts as she strode toward me, heels tapping along the dry edge of the marble.
I rose without hurry and kept my expression empty. To her, I was only the hired handyman. I had been gone from this house for more than ten years before she entered my father’s life, and I had made my fortune in Chicago using my mother’s maiden name. I knew how to avoid Richard’s shadow. Vanessa knew he had an estranged son, but she had never seen me—and had no idea I ran Vanguard Holdings.
I passed her the envelopes. Before I did, I slid the suspicious document underneath a utility bill, leaving it hidden from a casual glance.
“Sorry,” I said, softening my voice into a nervous mumble. “I wasn’t trying to snoop.”
She snatched the papers without really looking at me. Her contempt for anyone doing manual work was so complete that it left her blind to the person in front of her. “You’re paid to fix things. Stick to that.” Then she faced my sister. “Clara, I want this floor spotless in ten minutes. Keep it up, and I’ll lock the pantry. I’m not wasting food on your little bastard.”
Clara recoiled, as though Vanessa had hit her. She bent lower over the tiles and worked the sponge harder. Toby, her eight-month-old son, slept close by while she tried to keep him safe and finish the cleaning. “All right, Vanessa. I’m nearly finished.”
“You’d better be.” Vanessa turned away and swept up the stairs, leaving her threat behind her.
As soon as she was gone, I let the handyman act fall away. I stepped onto the wet marble, water soaking into my leather shoes, and crouched beside Clara. “Clara,” I said under my breath.
Her head jerked up. For a moment she only stared, her exhausted eyes shadowed and hollow. Then disbelief broke through. “Marcus? What are you doing here?”
“I came when I heard about Dad.” I reached toward Toby and touched his small sleeping foot. My anger had to wait; my sister looked close to breaking. “Why didn’t you call me? Why are you letting Vanessa treat you this way?”
Tears gathered and spilled down Clara’s face. She let the sponge fall, then pressed her shaking hands together in her lap. “I couldn’t call you. Dad’s care costs a fortune. Vanessa told me he left no cash she could use, just the properties. She said she’d stop the insurance that pays for his life support if I didn’t earn my keep.”
A cold knot tightened in my chest. “She threatened to cut off the coverage keeping him alive?”
“She has power of attorney,” Clara whispered, keeping her voice low in case Vanessa was listening. “She showed me the documents and said Dad had put everything in her hands. His accounts, this house—even the company where I work. She told my boss to take money from my wages until I’d paid ‘rent’ for staying in my old room.”
Vanessa was tightening a trap around my sister, using our father’s condition to make Clara feel helpless. And the document she waved around was either forged or signed after Richard could no longer understand what he was doing. I had seen the date myself.
“Listen carefully,” I told her, lowering my voice. “Dad didn’t sign that power of attorney.”
Clara blinked through the tears. “But I saw his signature.”
“You saw a forgery,” I said. “Or someone got him to sign after he was already incapacitated. Either way, that paper doesn’t make what she’s doing legitimate.”
Fear tightened her face. “Vanessa has the lawyers, Marcus. She controls Dad’s whole legal team. If we challenge her, she could have them end his treatment. I can’t risk that. I have to put up with her until Dad wakes up.”
“He may not wake up,” I said. I hated making her face that possibility, but pretending would only help Vanessa. “And while he’s unconscious, she’s bleeding his estate dry. Still, she’s made one serious mistake.”
Clara stared at me. “What mistake?”
“She believes she’s secure because she works at Prime Realty,” I said. A grim smile pulled at my mouth. “Vanguard Holdings bought Prime Realty yesterday morning.”
She looked at me without understanding. “What does that have to do with us?”
“I own Vanguard, Clara.” I let the words settle between us. “I’m its chief executive.”
Her mouth opened, but no answer came. I could see the truth reach her in stages: I wasn’t merely a wealthy man who might help. I controlled the company that paid Vanessa, and Vanguard stood above the firm she thought was hers to command. The power she flaunted had a weakness she hadn’t noticed.
“I’m going to bring her down,” I said, rising from the floor. “But I need you to keep acting as if nothing has changed.”
I held Clara’s gaze and kept my voice steady. “Let Vanessa go on believing she’s in charge. Let her think she’s winning. I’ll get ready to destroy her.”
