Chapter 10 - Ninety Percent
Marcus reached Carrow Materials at 8:21 with Quinn on one side of him and a state police investigator on the other.
The main office sat above the Hudson on a low ridge of old brick buildings Arthur had refused to replace with glass.
Employees were arriving for work.
Most had no idea eight million dollars was missing from their retirement reserve.
Marcus saw three people wave to him through the lobby windows.
He did not wave back.
The emergency board meeting started at 8:30.
Five directors were in the room. Two joined by video. One empty chair belonged to Susan.
Arthur’s chair was empty too.
At the far end sat the transfer agent and a man Marcus recognized from Red Oak’s website.
No Peter.
No Vincent.
The board chair, Helen Price, pushed a packet toward Marcus.
“We have a consent bearing your signature.”
“It’s forged.”
“The scan was received last night.”
“I did not sign it.”
“The wet original is due by courier.”
“Then wait for it.”
Helen looked at Quinn.
“This is now a criminal investigation?”
“Yes.”
The Red Oak representative stood.
“Then my client reserves all rights for breach.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Your client can reserve a seat in hell.”
Helen said, “Marcus.”
“No. Six hundred people have retirement money missing while you are discussing breach.”
One director shifted in his chair.
Another stared at the table.
Helen’s eyes sharpened.
“What retirement money?”
Good.
Not everyone knew.
Quinn put copies of the Northline transfers on the table.
The room changed.
At 8:37, security called upstairs.
A courier had arrived.
Marcus stood.
Quinn said, “Nobody touch the envelope.”
The courier was a nineteen-year-old kid from a local service. He had picked up the package from a locker at a gas station in Newburgh. The job had been entered online at 6:11 a.m.
No sender name.
Quinn opened the envelope with gloves.
Inside was the blue-tab folder.
Marcus saw it and felt the room narrow.
The tab still said SIGNATURE.
He watched Quinn lift the top page.
There was his name.
Ink.
Blue-black.
Below it was Peter Vale’s witness certification.
The family seal had been embossed beside both signatures.
Helen Price whispered, “Jesus.”
Marcus did not touch the page.
“That is not mine.”
The transfer agent said, “We need handwriting analysis.”
“You need common sense.”
“Marcus,” Helen said, “if it is facially valid—”
Arthur’s voice came through the speakerphone in the middle of the table.
“Hold it to the light.”
Everybody stopped.
A nurse had connected him from the hospital.
Helen picked up the page by its corners and held it toward the window.
“What am I looking for?”
“Watermark.”
“There is one.”
“Read the number.”
Helen squinted.
“C-119.”
Arthur said nothing for two seconds.
Then, “That paper left my office six years ago.”
Marcus understood.
Peter had saved blank sealed paper too.
Arthur continued.
“The charter requires the consent to be executed on current-year stock.”
Helen lowered the page.
“What is current-year?”
“C-126.”
The transfer agent sat back.
The Red Oak man stopped packing his bag.
The forged consent was dead.
For maybe ten seconds Marcus thought that meant they had stopped it.
Then Helen’s assistant ran into the room without knocking.
“Ms. Price.”
Helen turned.
“The county recorder just posted the asset transfer.”
Nobody moved.
“What asset transfer?” Marcus said.
The assistant looked at him.
“Calder Quarry, the river terminal, and the North Ridge parcels. Filed at 8:12.”
“Under whose authority?”
She swallowed.
“Arthur Carrow’s power of attorney.”
The speaker on the table crackled.
Arthur’s voice came out quiet.
“I revoked that power on August twenty-ninth.”
The assistant looked down at the filing.
“This one is dated August thirtieth.”
Arthur stopped breathing loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Marcus leaned over the table.
“Dad?”
May you like
Arthur said, “I was already behind the wall on August thirtieth.”
