Chapter 7: The Man in Room 214
The door to room 214 opened before Julian could knock a second time.
The man standing in the doorway was around fifty-five, broad-shouldered, with the kind of face that had once been confident and was now just tired.
He was wearing a plain dark suit that didn't fit the occasion — not a wedding guest's suit, not quite a business suit.
A man who had dressed carefully for something he wasn't sure he'd go through with.
"Mr.
Sterling," he said.
"I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Daniel Forsythe," Julian said.
"Yes." He stepped back from the door.
"Please come in."
The room was a standard hotel room, not one of the event suites.
There was a briefcase on the bed, open.
A folder of documents beside it.
A coffee cup that had gone cold on the desk.
Forsythe sat in the desk chair.
Julian and Marcus took the two chairs near the window.
"How long have you known Victoria?" Julian asked.
"Four years." Forsythe laced his fingers together.
"We met at an industry conference in Seattle.
I was running a mid-size logistics company — Forsythe Transport.
Regional, but profitable.
She approached me at the networking dinner.
Said she was a business development consultant looking for growth partnerships." He paused.
"We were together for eleven months.
Engaged for three of those."
Marcus was writing.
Julian kept his eyes on Forsythe.
"What happened?"
"We were six weeks from the wedding when I found out she'd incorporated a holding company in my name — without my knowledge, without my signature.
Or so I thought." Forsythe reached into the folder and pulled out a document.
Slid it across to Julian.
"My signature is on the incorporation papers.
I've had three handwriting analysts look at it.
All three said the same thing — it's a skilled forgery.
Close enough to pass a standard check, not close enough to survive forensic scrutiny."
Julian looked at the document.
Then at Marcus.
"The holding company," Forsythe continued, "had been used to redirect a portion of Forsythe Transport's operating revenue into a separate account over a period of eight months.
By the time my accountant flagged the discrepancy, four hundred and sixty thousand dollars had moved through it."
The room was very quiet.
"I went to the police," Forsythe said.
"They took a report.
The investigation went nowhere — Victoria had already dissolved the holding company and closed the account by the time anyone started looking.
No assets to freeze.
No clear evidence she had direct control of the account, because it was technically in my name." He looked at his hands.
"My attorney told me I could pursue civil action.
I spent eight months trying.
The legal costs nearly finished what the theft had started." He looked up.
"I lost the company fourteen months later.
Not entirely because of her.
But she was the beginning of it."
Marcus set down his pen.
"Mr.
Forsythe — the holding company she incorporated using your name.
Do you know where it was registered?"
Forsythe looked at him.
"Vancouver, British Columbia."
Marcus and Julian looked at each other.
"Hale Meridian Capital," Julian said.
Forsythe's eyes sharpened.
"You already know about Garrett."
"We know the name.
We know the company.
We didn't know the connection until now."
"Garrett Hale is her mechanism," Forsythe said.
"He handles the financial architecture — the incorporations, the accounts, the paper trail that points away from her.
She handles the relationships.
The access." He paused.
"The men."
Julian sat with that for a moment.
"Who sent me the text this morning?" he asked.
"And who sent you here?"
Forsythe shook his head slightly.
"I don't know who sent your text.
I was contacted three days ago by someone who said they were a private investigator working on behalf of an unnamed client.
They told me you were about to marry Victoria Hayes.
They told me where the wedding was.
They told me that if I wanted to prevent another man from going through what I went through, I should come." He looked at Julian steadily.
"I almost didn't.
I told myself it wasn't my business.
That I'd put it behind me." A pause.
"Then I thought about what four years ago felt like.
And I drove."
Julian stood and extended his hand.
Forsythe took it.
"Thank you," Julian said.
"I mean that."
"There's one more thing." Forsythe reached into the briefcase and produced a second folder, thicker than the first.
"My attorney compiled everything before the civil case collapsed.
Statements, account records, the forensic handwriting analysis.
It's not enough on its own — we tried.
But combined with whatever you have — " He held the folder out.
"It might be."
Marcus took it.
They were back in the corridor two minutes later.
Marcus was already on his phone.
Julian stopped walking and stood still for a moment, his hand against the wall.
Four hundred and sixty thousand dollars.
A forged signature.
A logistics company gone.
A man who had driven four hours on the chance that it might help a stranger.
Down in the garden, the guests were still waiting.
Someone had made an announcement — a brief delay, a family matter, please enjoy the refreshments.
Julian's cousin Daniel had texted twice asking if everything was all right.
Julian typed back: *It will be.
Stay with Mom.*
Then he straightened and walked back toward the stairs.
Victoria was still in the dressing room.
She hadn't left.
That told him something.
She was waiting to see how this played out.
She still thought there was a version of today she could salvage.
May you like
She was wrong.
But she didn't know that yet.
