Chapter 7 - Sign Tomorrow, and He Comes HomeThe next move came from Warren.

At 8:15 the following morning, Meredith received an email from his attorney proposing what he called “a temporary family resolution.” Warren would cooperate in locating Adrien’s cremated remains, restore two million dollars to Sloan’s trust, and resign as trustee of certain family assets.

In exchange, Sloan would sign the settlement Patrice had drafted.

She would release all past financial claims.

She would surrender her voting rights in Bellamy Holdings for ten years.

She would agree not to provide company documents voluntarily to law enforcement without legal process.

And she would make no public accusation against Warren or Patrice.

Sloan read the offer twice.

“He’s bargaining with my husband.”

Meredith’s mouth tightened. “The email never says he possesses the remains.”

“It says he’ll help locate them if I sign.”

“Yes.”

“That is bargaining.”

“It may be evidence of coercive intent. It is also carefully written.”

Nolan stood beside the office window, furious. “He thinks this is a business deal.”

“For Warren, everything becomes a business deal when emotion stops working,” Sloan said.

Her phone buzzed.

A text from Patrice.

You do not understand how much damage Adrien caused. Sign before there is nothing left to save.

Sloan showed Meredith.

“Save that.”

“I’m saving everything.”

Meredith had already prepared a civil complaint and a motion seeking a temporary restraining order against transfers from Sloan’s trust. The filing accused Warren, Patrice, Bellamy Holdings, Bellamy Advisory, and related entities of fraud, conversion, breach of fiduciary duty, and unauthorized use of trust assets.

By noon, the judge had scheduled an emergency hearing for the following morning.

That afternoon, Ruiz called.

The funeral-home computer logs had produced a breakthrough.

Celeste’s administrator account had been accessed at 9:05 on the morning of the memorial. The user exported a temporary master keycard credential, then deleted the export history. But the deletion had left an audit event.

The computer’s camera had also captured three automatic login photographs.

One showed Celeste.

The next showed a shoulder, a pearl necklace, and the lower half of a woman’s face.

Patrice.

“My mother copied the keycard.”

“Likely,” Ruiz said.

Sloan thought of Patrice standing beside Warren while gray powder fell into the garbage, laughing as if she were merely enjoying her husband’s cruelty.

The laugh had been camouflage.

Maybe she already knew the urn was fake.

“Did Mom know the display urn wasn’t real?” Sloan asked.

No one could answer.

Ruiz continued.

“There’s more. The forged release document metadata shows it was created on a laptop registered to Bellamy Advisory.”

Patrice’s company.

Nolan sat down.

“So she forged Sloan’s signature.”

“The document was created on her company laptop,” Ruiz corrected. “We still need to establish who was operating it.”

Sloan appreciated the precision even while hating it.

“What about Dad?”

“The parking cameras confirm he left the funeral home for thirty-seven minutes. Traffic cameras put his vehicle near Bellamy Holdings’ downtown garage during part of that window.”

“Could he have taken Adrien there?”

“Possibly.”

Meredith asked, “Have you obtained search warrants?”

“I can’t discuss active warrant applications.”

That meant yes or maybe.

Sloan looked at Nolan.

“We should go to the hearing tomorrow and let the process work.”

Nolan gave a bitter smile.

Warren called.

Meredith nodded once. Ruiz had already told Sloan she could choose to answer calls and preserve them. Sloan accepted.

“Hello.”

“Sloan.”

Warren sounded tired rather than angry.

For one dangerous second, she heard the father who once taught her to ride a bicycle and carried her home after she broke her ankle at fourteen.

Then he spoke again.

“You need to end this.”

“Where is Adrien?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then what are you offering to help locate?”

Silence.

“My attorney worded that badly.”

“Your attorneys don’t word things badly.”

“You think you understand what’s happening because Adrien left you a trail of accusations.”

“He left bank records.”

“He left pieces.”

“Then give me the rest.”

Warren exhaled.

“Your mother has been moving money.”

Sloan’s grip tightened.

“I know.”

Another silence.

“How much do you know?”

“Enough.”

“You don’t know Graham Voss.”

“I know he helped her hide Mercer Ridge.”

Warren swore.

Nolan looked sharply at Sloan.

“You see?” Warren said. “This is why you need me. Patrice has been preparing to leave. She has accounts I cannot trace.”

“And you borrowed against my trust.”

“To save the company.”

“You forged nothing?”

“No.”

“You took Adrien’s box?”

Warren hesitated.

“No.”

“You took his ashes?”

“No.”

“What did you take from the funeral home?”

The pause lasted long enough to become an answer.

Finally Warren said, “A bag.”

Nolan stepped closer.

Sloan kept her voice level. “What was in it?”

“I thought it was the box.”

“What was it?”

“Trash.”

Sloan remembered the torn security tape found under his car.

“Who told you where to find the bag?”

Warren’s voice became quieter.

“Your mother.”

There it was.

Not innocence.

Collaboration.

“What did she tell you?”

“That Adrien had stolen company records and hidden them at the funeral home. She said if the records surfaced, the company could collapse.”

“So you went into a restricted hallway and stole what you thought was his box.”

“I was retrieving stolen property.”

“You planted security tape under your own car?”

“What?”

His confusion sounded real.

Sloan looked at Meredith.

“No,” Warren said. “I never saw any security tape.”

“Then someone wanted police to think you opened the box.”

Warren stopped breathing for a second.

When he spoke again, fear had returned.

“Sloan, listen to me. Patrice knew I would take the bag.”

Sloan understood before he finished.

“She set you up.”

“I think she wanted you to believe I stole everything.”

“Why?”

“Because while everyone watched me, she could take the real box.”

A knock sounded at Meredith’s door.

Her assistant entered with a courier envelope.

Inside was a single photograph.

Adrien’s genuine urn sat on a marble countertop beside Patrice’s pearl necklace.

May you like

92 The Girl They Called Broke Was a Billionaire’s Daughter—But Her Fathe...

91 A Cruel Hotel Manager Fired a Receptionist for Defending a Poor Old G...

90 On Christmas Eve, My Daughter-in-Law Stole $12,000 From My Card—Then...

On the back, in Patrice’s handwriting, were six words:

Sign tomorrow, and he comes home.