Chapter 8
The morning light broke pale and gray through the towering glass windows of the penthouse, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floors. Arthur was awake, sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows in the guest bedroom, sipping a cup of warm broth while Julian went over the freshly printed documents spread across the bedspread.
A knock at the heavy oak front door broke the quiet of the morning. Julian walked down the long hallway, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the door open. Standing in the hallway was Ronald Vance, looking even more disheveled in person than he had sounded over the phone. He wore a rumpled gray windbreaker over a stained dress shirt, clutching a manila folder to his chest like a shield against an impending storm.
"Mr. Vance," Julian said, his voice flat and devoid of warmth as he stepped back to allow the trembling man entry. "Right on time."
Ronald swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the luxurious entryway before landing on Julian’s steady, unforgiving gaze. "I brought the copy of the intake log and the signed affidavit you drafted. But I want it understood that I was deceived. David told me—"
"You can explain what David told you to the district attorney’s investigator," Julian interrupted, guiding Ronald toward the living room table where a digital recorder sat beside a high-end fountain pen. "Right now, you’re going to sign this document admitting that you failed to verify my father’s mental competence and that the signature was obtained under fraudulent pretenses."
Ronald walked over to the table, his hands shaking visibly as he set the manila folder down. He pulled out the two-page legal document, scanning the dense paragraphs with mounting dread. "If I sign this, I’m basically admitting liability for professional malpractice."
"You committed malpractice the moment you notarized a document for a terrified man sitting on a concrete floor," Julian said coldly, sliding the fountain pen across the glass surface toward him. "Sign it, Ronald. It’s the only way you avoid being named as a primary co-conspirator in a multi-count felony indictment."
Ronald looked up, searching Julian’s face for a shred of mercy, but found only the cold, unyielding resolve of a man protecting his family. With a defeated sigh, the notary picked up the pen and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page, pressing hard enough to tear the paper slightly before releasing the pen as if it were burning hot.
Julian picked up the paper, inspected the signature, and nodded once. "Thank you, Ronald. You can leave now. My attorney will be in touch if your testimony is required in court."
As the front door clicked shut behind the fleeing notary, Arthur wheeled himself out of the hallway in a lightweight transport chair Julian had ordered the previous evening. The old man looked significantly better after a full night of uninterrupted sleep and proper nutrition, color returning to his cheeks.
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"Was that the man who signed the papers?" Arthur asked quietly, pointing a thin finger toward the door.
"Yes, Dad," Julian said, walking over to kneel beside the wheelchair and placing the signed affidavit into his father’s lap. "And his signature just invalidated every single document David and Clara had filed."
