Chapter 7: What Morning Brought
I did not sleep.
I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop, my legal pad, and the cold remains of my tea, and I built a timeline.
Every trip Arthur had taken in the past two years.
Every account transfer I could access from my own records.
Every date Chloe and Olivia had given me the night before.
By four in the morning, the shape of it was clear.
It had not started with Renata Voss.
It had started with a conversation I barely remembered — Arthur, eighteen months ago, suggesting we restructure my pre-marital holdings into a joint trust for tax purposes.
I had said I'd think about it.
I had been traveling.
I had forgotten to follow up.
He had not forgotten.
Patricia called at seven forty-five.
"I've been up since five," she said.
"Talk to me."
"The farmhouse transfer," I said.
"How did he do it without my father's signature?"
"He didn't need your father's signature.
He used the power of attorney your father signed yesterday."
"That document was signed yesterday morning.
The farmhouse transfer was six weeks ago."
"The power of attorney was backdated," Patricia said.
"The notarization stamp is from a notary in Newark who has appeared in three other fraud cases in the past four years.
I've already flagged it."
I pressed my hand flat on the table.
"He backdated a power of attorney."
"And used it to transfer a property he had no legal right to touch." She paused.
"Genevieve, this isn't a civil matter anymore.
This is crjminal fraud.
Potentially wire fraud as well, given the interstate nature of the transfers.
I've already spoken to a colleague at the U.S.
Attorney's office.
They want to talk to you today."
"What about the Millbrook property?"
"The transfer document you handed over last night was never filed.
He prepared it but hadn't submitted it yet.
Millbrook is still in your name." A pause.
"I think he was waiting for the $250,000 to clear and then planned to file everything at once.
Your early return interrupted the timeline."
Twenty-six days early.
I had come home twenty-six days early because a colleague in Frankfurt had mentioned offhand that the regulatory review had concluded and I could wrap up ahead of schedule.
Twenty-six days.
"What do I need to do?" I asked.
"Come to my office at ten.
Bring your father.
The U.S.
Attorney's representative will be there." She paused.
"And Genevieve — don't let Arthur leave the house before then."
I hung up and walked to the guest room.
I knocked.
No answer.
I opened the door.
The room was empty.
The window was closed but unlocked.
The bed had been slept in, barely.
His overnight bag — the one he kept in the closet for work trips — was gone.
On the nightstand was his wedding ring.
I picked it up.
Held it for one moment.
Set it back down.
I walked to the kitchen.
My father was awake, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee he had made himself, looking out at the backyard.
"He's gone," I said.
My father nodded, as though he had expected this.
"Patricia needs us at her office at ten," I said.
"There's going to be someone from the U.S.
Attorney's office there."
He looked at me.
"The federal government?"
"Yes."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Should I wear my good jacket?"
Something moved through me — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob.
I sat down across from him.
"Yes, Dad," I said.
"Wear your good jacket."
Olivia appeared in the kitchen doorway at eight-thirty, dressed and composed.
Chloe was behind her, pale and quiet.
"He texted me at six," Olivia said.
She held out her phone.
The message read: *Mom — I need some time.
Don't say anything to anyone until I can explain.
I'll be in touch.
Trust me.*
"I'm not going to trust him," Olivia said.
"Not anymore." She set the phone on the table.
"What do you need from us?"
"Everything you told me last night, in writing, before ten o'clock.
Dates, conversations, what he said, what you saw." I looked at Chloe.
"Both of you."
Chloe sat down and pulled the legal pad toward her.
May you like
She picked up my pen without asking.
She started writing.
