Chapter 6: What Richard Told Them
Richard Colby arrived at the hotel at half past two.
He did not come voluntarily.
He came because Charlotte's attorney — a quiet, precise woman named Grace Ellison who had been working the case from a rented office in midtown for the past eleven months — had sent a courier to his building that morning with a letter that contained one paragraph and no pleasantries.
The letter informed Richard that the Solmere board had convened, that security footage from the fourteenth floor had been reviewed, and that his cooperation in the next six hours would be the single most important factor in determining whether the matter was resolved privately or referred to the district attorney's office before end of business.
Richard was fifty-one, a partner at a firm that specialized in estate and asset law, and he had spent his entire career being the man in the room who knew where the bodies were buried.
He walked into the conference room looking like a man who had just realized he was one of the bodies.
Charlotte was still at the table.
Grace sat beside her.
Marcus was by the window.
The board members who hadn't left — five of them, including Arthur — were still in their chairs.
Vivienne was not in the room.
Richard looked at the empty chair at the head of the table.
"Where is she?"
"Downstairs," Grace said.
"With our process server."
Richard sat down slowly.
He set his briefcase on the table and did not open it.
"I want immunity," he said.
"That's not something we can offer," Grace said.
"That conversation happens with the DA, not with us.
What we can offer is a documented record of your cooperation, which will matter later."
"I need a guarantee."
"You need a lawyer who isn't currently under a legal hold," Grace said.
"But in the meantime, you can talk to us."
Richard looked at Charlotte.
"Your mother knew," he said.
Charlotte didn't move.
"Say that again."
"Eleanor.
She knew something was wrong in the last few months.
She changed her private will — not the corporate documents, just the personal one.
She added a clause." He reached into his briefcase and produced a single folded page.
He slid it across the table without touching the documents Charlotte had laid out.
"She left this with a separate attorney.
Not me.
Someone she trusted more than she trusted anyone in this building."
Grace picked it up.
She read it.
She passed it to Charlotte.
Charlotte read it twice.
Her mother's handwriting was in the margin — a single line, added in pen after the document had been typed.
*If Charlotte is reading this, then I was right to be afraid.
Don't let them tell you who you are.*
Charlotte set the page down on the table.
She didn't look up for a moment.
Arthur Crane cleared his throat softly.
"What does the clause say?"
"It establishes a secondary verification process for any ownership transfer made within two years of Eleanor's death," Grace said.
"It requires Charlotte's in-person biometric confirmation — fingerprint and voice — at a specific law firm in Connecticut." She looked at Richard.
"The same state where the fraudulent notarization originated."
"She anticipated it," Marcus said from the window.
"She anticipated something," Grace said.
"She didn't know exactly what.
But she built a lock."
Richard's hands were flat on the table.
"Vivienne didn't know about the clause.
I didn't know about it until this morning."
"But you knew the transfer was fraudulent," Charlotte said.
He didn't answer.
"Richard." Her voice was steady.
"You filed the paperwork.
You notarized it through a firm you had a side arrangement with.
You knew my signature was not real."
A long silence.
"Vivienne told me you were dead," he said finally.
"She showed me a report.
A death certificate.
She said the accident in Geneva —"
"Was arranged," Charlotte said.
"I know.
I've known for four months."
The word landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Arthur leaned forward.
"Arranged by whom?"
Charlotte looked at Richard.
Richard looked at the table.
"Both of them," he said quietly.
"Vivienne and the man she was working with.
I didn't know about that part until after.
When I found out, she told me I was already too deep to walk away."
"Who is the man?" Grace asked.
Richard picked up his briefcase.
Set it back down.
Picked it up again.
"His name is Dominic Ashcroft," he said.
"Vivienne's brother.
May you like
He's been managing the Solmere's offshore accounts for the past eighteen months." He finally opened the briefcase and slid a folder across the table.
"And he landed at JFK this morning."
