Chapter 8: The Other Company
It didn’t make sense.
At least not immediately.
Richard owned Bennett Architectural Supply.
For years, he had complained about Blue Ridge Development Partners as though the company had been created specifically to ruin his life.
They competed for commercial construction contracts.
Shared vendors.
Bid against each other.
Richard blamed Blue Ridge whenever his margins fell.
“They undercut everybody,” he once told me.
Another time:
“They’re vultures.””
Yet Patricia’s spreadsheet showed money moving toward Blue Ridge repeatedly.
Large amounts.
$80,000.
$125,000.
$210,000.
Dana forwarded the photograph to Martin.
His response arrived less than a minute later.
Working on it.
I looked at Dana.
“Could Richard owe them money?””
“Possibly.””
“Could he have invested?””
“Possibly.””
“Could you stop saying possibly?””
“No.””
I paced Barnes’s office.
“If the loans weren’t for Bennett Supply, where did two million dollars go?””
“That’s what we’re finding out.””
My phone buzzed again.
Patricia.
Not a call.
Another message.
Ask who owns Blue Ridge.
I showed Dana.
This time she allowed me to respond.
Who?
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then:
Not Richard.
I almost threw the phone.
Dana typed a message herself.
This is Dana Mercer, Charlotte’s attorney. Contact me directly. We can discuss preserving your evidence and arranging counsel.
Patricia didn’t answer.
At 1:17 p.m., Martin called.
Dana put him on speaker.
“I’ve got Blue Ridge.””
“Who owns it?”” I asked.
“Officially? Three entities.””
Of course.
Nothing could be simple anymore.
“Which entities?””
“An investment company in Delaware, a Virginia holding company, and a family trust.””
My stomach tightened at the word trust.
“Whose?””
“Give me a second.””
Keyboard sounds.
Then:
“The family trust beneficiaries are difficult to identify from public filings.””
Dana sighed.
“But?””
“But the Virginia holding company is more interesting.””
“What’s it called?””
“Piedmont Strategic Holdings.””
I had never heard of that either.
“Owner?””
“Another LLC.””
I closed my eyes.
“Martin.””
“I’m getting there.””
“Please do.””
“The registered agent for that LLC is a law office.””
“What law office?””
“Pritchard Asset Law.””
Silence.
The fake attorney.
Dana stood.
“So Pritchard is connected to Blue Ridge.””
“Looks that way.””
“And Pritchard supposedly represented Charlotte in the trust transaction.””
“Yes.””
My skin went cold.
“So my fake attorney worked for the company receiving money from loans secured with my fake signature.””
“That’s one interpretation.””
“What’s another?””
Martin paused.
“There really isn’t a good one.””
For once, I appreciated certainty.
“Find Pritchard.””
“Already working on it.””
“Is that even a real person?””
“Maybe.””
Dana looked at me.
“Possibly.””
I glared at her.
She almost smiled.
Martin continued.
“There’s something else. Bennett Legal Services—the document preparation company?””
“Yes.””
“Same mailing address as Piedmont Strategic Holdings.””
I sat down.
This wasn’t a collection of coincidences anymore.
It was infrastructure.
Companies.
Addresses.
Documents.
Notaries.
Fake counsel.
Richard hadn’t improvised a fraudulent loan.
Someone had built a machine.
And my identity had been fed into it.
At 2:40, Dana returned to her office.
I went back to work.
That lasted twenty-three minutes.
Then Evelyn called.
“Richard came to Melissa’s house.””
I stood.
“When?””
“He’s here.””
“Why?””
“He wants to know where I put Harold’s files.””
My pulse quickened.
“Don’t give him anything.””
“I don’t have them.””
“What?””
“I told you some were mixed with the house papers.””
“Yes.””
“Not all.””
I sat back down.
“Where are the rest?””
“At a storage facility.””
“Does Richard know?””
“He knows Harold had storage. He doesn’t know I kept it.””
“Evelyn.””
“I forgot.””
“You forgot an entire storage unit?””
“I’m sixty-eight, Charlotte. I forget why I walk into rooms.””
Fair.
“What’s in it?””
“Boxes from Harold’s office. Old tax records. Contracts. Personnel files.””
“Anything about Patricia?””
“Probably.””
“Anything about Richard?””
Silence.
“Evelyn?””
“Yes.””
“How much?””
“I don’t know.””
Richard’s voice suddenly came through the phone.
“Who are you talking to?””
Evelyn gasped.
The line went dead.
I called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I called Melissa.
She answered immediately.
“Charlotte?””
“What’s happening?””
“Richard took Mom’s phone.””
My anger surged.
“Is she safe?””
“Yes. I’m here.””
“Put me on speaker.””
A moment later Richard’s voice came through.
“You need to stop involving my family.””
I stood.
“Give your mother her phone.””
“This is between us.””
“No. Your fraud is between you and several lenders.””
Silence.
I regretted saying it instantly.
Dana had told me not to confront him.
But I was tired.
Tired of him entering rooms as though everyone belonged to him.
Tired of him treating women’s boundaries like suggestions.
Tired of being careful while he destroyed things.
“What did you say?””
“You heard me.””
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.””
“Then you have nothing to worry about.””
His breathing changed.
“You think Dana Mercer is protecting you?””
That stopped me.
“How do you know Dana?””
He laughed softly.
“She filed against me.””
Of course.
“You’re making a huge mistake.””
“I already made one.””
“What?””
“Marrying you.””
Melissa whispered something in the background.
Richard ignored her.
“You’re going to lose everything.””
“No, Richard.””
My voice was calm again.
“You’re just finally discovering what belongs to me.””
He disconnected.
I immediately called Dana and confessed.
She was not pleased.
“You discussed fraud with him?””
“One sentence.””
“Charlotte.””
“I know.””
“Do you?””
“Yes.””
“Because my job becomes harder every time you decide to improvise.””
“I know.””
“Stop.””
“I will.””
“Good.””
Then I told her about the storage unit.
Her irritation vanished.
“Do not let Evelyn access it alone.””
“I wasn’t planning to.””
“I’ll have Martin coordinate.””
By 5:00, arrangements were made.
Evelyn would meet Dana, Martin, and me at the storage facility the next morning.
Richard would not be told.
At 5:32, a process server found Richard.
Dana texted me two words.
He’s served.
I stared at the message longer than I expected.
Five years.
Reduced to papers handed to a man in a driveway.
I felt sad.
Then relieved.
Then guilty for feeling relieved.
Then angry that I felt guilty.
Divorce apparently contained too many emotions for one body.
At 7:11, I returned to temporary quarters.
Someone was waiting outside my door.
Julian.
He stood when he saw me.
I stopped twenty feet away.
“You need to leave.””
“Please.””
“No.””
“I need to talk to you.””
“Through attorneys.””
“I don’t have one.””
“You should probably get one.””
His face was pale.
He looked younger than twenty-two.
For the first time since I had known him, he wasn’t smirking.
“Dad lied to me.””
I said nothing.
“He said the company was mine eventually.””
“Not my problem.””
“He said you agreed.””
“To what?””
“The trust.””
My pulse accelerated.
I remembered Dana.
Don’t engage.
“I’m not discussing this.””
He stepped forward.
I stepped back.
“Don’t.””
He stopped.
“I didn’t know he forged anything.””
“You knew enough to ask why the bank wasn’t supposed to contact me.””
His face changed.
“You heard that?””
“Yes.””
“How?””
I didn’t answer.
He understood.
“The cameras.””
I waited.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Dad said you knew about the loans.””
“You knew there were loans?””
“One.””
“Which one?””
“The Commonwealth loan.””
“And the trust?””
“He said you moved the house into it for taxes.””
“Did you ever ask me?””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because he’s my dad.””
There it was.
The answer to half the disaster.
Because he’s my dad.
Trust without verification.
Loyalty without limits.
Consequences paid by somebody else.
“What do you want, Julian?””
He looked at the ground.
Then back at me.
“I want out.””
“You should speak to a lawyer.””
“I can’t afford one.””
“You received one hundred forty-eight thousand dollars.””
His face drained completely.
That told me he hadn’t expected me to know.
“I didn’t keep it.””
“I know.””
He swallowed.
“How much do you know?””
“Enough.””
He looked toward the parking lot.
“Then you know about Blue Ridge.””
I didn’t respond.
“Dad doesn’t own it.””
“So I’ve heard.””
Julian looked at me.
“But I know who does.””
Before he could continue, headlights swept across the building.
A black SUV turned into the lot.
Julian’s face changed instantly.
Fear.
Real fear.
“That’s him.””
“Richard?””
“No.””
The SUV stopped.
A man stepped out.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Dark overcoat.
I had never seen him before.
Julian backed away.
“Who is that?””
May you like
He looked at me.
“That’s Samuel Pritchard.””
