Chapter 7 - Arthur Vance’s Counterstrike
At dawn, Arthur and I walked down to the shoreline.
The pontoon's leather seats had been slashed, and the outboard motor’s fuel line had been severed. Nailed to the fence post was a formal Notice of Immediate Asset Seizure bearing the corporate seal of Apex Horizon Holdings LLC.
Arthur pulled the paper from the wood with a sharp jerk, scanning the boilerplate legal threats.
"Notice of private auction on site, Friday, twelve o'clock," Arthur read aloud, his jaw tight. "They are sending a liquidation auctioneer and private security contractors. They intend to stage a physical sale on your dock to create irreversible third-party titles."
"Over my dead body," I said, looking out over the misty lake where Dorothy and I used to catch bluegill at sunrise.
"We need the original document Marcus forged," Arthur said, turning back toward the house. "Not a photocopy. Not a scan. When Marcus submitted the forged power of attorney to the county recorder, he brought in a paper original. The clerk keeps physical copies of recorded powers of attorney in the archive vault in Albion for forty-eight hours before microfilm processing."
We hurried back inside. Paige was standing in the kitchen, brewing coffee on an old camping stove she had set up on the counter. Her eyes were red, but the trembling in her hands had stopped.
"I heard the truck last night," she said quietly. "It was Donnie Ray. He's Marcus's cousin. He works as an enforcer for Apex's repossession wing in Fort Wayne."
"Does Donnie have access to Marcus's private safe?" Arthur asked sharply.
Paige shook her head. "Marcus didn't keep a safe here. He was terrified Donnie would rob him. Marcus kept everything in the false bottom of his tackle box."
Arthur and I froze.
"The tackle box?" I repeated.
"The green one," Paige said. "The one Josie had yesterday."
We ran through the great room and burst onto the back deck. Josie was sitting on the wooden swing overlooking the water, Dorothy's old tackle box resting securely between her knees.
"Josie, sweetie," I called out gently as we approached. "Can Uncle Gerald see that box for a minute?"
Josie looked up, her clear blue eyes steady. "I know what's under the plastic trays, Uncle Gerald. Daddy thought I was stupid, but I watched him hide the white envelopes under the metal dividers three weeks ago."
With small, careful fingers, she lifted the three tiers of plastic fishing lures. Underneath, embedded in the rusted steel base of the antique box, lay a thick manila envelope sealed with red wax.
Arthur Vance tore the wax open with trembling fingers.
Inside lay the holy grail: the original power of attorney document.
May you like
Arthur held it up to the morning sunlight. "Look at the watermarks, Gerald. The paper was manufactured in 2023. Dorothy died in 2021. Marcus didn't just forge your signature—he forged Dorothy's signature as a co-grantor on paper that didn't even exist when she was alive!"
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