After splits, conversions, and acquisition adjustments, the estate’s ownership interest was valued at approximately $18.7 million.
I read the number three times.
My mother stared at me.
“Your father wore the same winter coat for nineteen years.”
Vega almost smiled.
I couldn’t.
The next document was worse.
It was a transfer authorization assigning the shares from Nancy Mercer to something called NBR Heritage Holdings LLC.
My mother’s signature appeared at the bottom.
“That isn’t mine.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because you make the N in Nancy like a lightning bolt.”
She looked at me.
Even then, I knew her handwriting.
Even then, she was still my mother.
The signature was close.
Very close.
But not right.
Attached was a notarization.
The notary was dead.
He had died eighteen months before the document was supposedly signed.
Detective Vega looked at me.
“This isn’t an assault case anymore.”
A forensic accountant named Lionel Brooks joined the investigation two days later.
