Chapter 8: The Notary Speaks
Martin Ashworth was fifty-three years old, and he looked like a man who had not slept properly in eight months.
He came to Grace's office alone, without a lawyer, which Grace noted quietly to me before he arrived.
*People who come without lawyers are either very innocent or very ready to talk.
Sometimes both.*
He sat across the conference table with his hands folded and his eyes on the documents Grace had laid out.
He didn't need to be told what they were.
He had held each one.
He had pressed his notary seal into each one.
"I want to say something before we start," he said.
"Go ahead," Grace said.
"I didn't know — in the beginning — what the documents were actually for.
Brenda told me it was standard financial planning.
Spousal asset protection.
She said every couple with significant assets did this." He paused.
"I believed her.
She's my aunt.
I had no reason not to."
"When did that change?" Grace asked.
"When Paula's case fell apart." He looked at Paula across the table.
"I'm sorry.
I should have said something then.
I told myself it was a civil matter.
That it wasn't my place." He looked back at his hands.
"Then I found out about Donna.
And I understood what I had been part of."
"Martin," Grace said carefully, "I need to ask you directly.
Did Brenda ever instruct you on how to present these documents to the women signing them?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Yes," he said.
The room didn't move.
"She told me to present them as part of a larger financial package.
To keep the conversation moving.
To not pause on page two." He exhaled slowly.
"She said the women would be nervous about the wedding and wouldn't read carefully.
She said that was normal and that the documents were in their interest anyway."
"She told you to exploit the fact that they wouldn't read carefully," Grace said.
"Yes."
Paula made a sound — not quite a word.
She pressed her hand over her mouth.
"Martin," I said, "did she say that about me specifically?
Before my wedding?"
He looked at me.
His eyes were red at the edges.
"She said you were smart.
That you might ask questions.
She told me to let Derek handle you if you did." He paused.
"She said — and I'm going to say this exactly — she said, *'Derek knows how to manage her.
He's been doing it for eight months.'*"
Eight months.
We had been together for ten.
Two months in, he had already been managing me.
I looked at the table.
I didn't trust my face.
"I'll testify," Martin said.
"I'll provide a written statement.
I'll give you everything I have." He looked at Grace.
"I know what this means for my notary license.
I know what it means for my relationship with this family.
I've thought about it for eight months and I can't keep thinking about it." He looked at me.
"I'm sorry, Chloe.
I'm sorry to all of you."
Grace set down her pen.
"We'll need a formal statement today," she said.
"Terrence will take you through it." She stood.
"And Martin — you should get a lawyer.
Not because you're in trouble, but because you've done the right thing and you deserve to be protected for it."
He nodded.
He looked like a man who had set down something very heavy.
After Terrence took him to the adjoining room, Grace turned to me.
"Eight months," she said.
"Yes."
"That means the joint account, the documents, the wedding — all of it was planned from the second month of your relationship."
"Yes."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then: "I'm going to refer this to the district attorney's office today.
What Martin just described — the deliberate concealment, the coordinated misrepresentation, Brenda's direct instruction — this is not civil fraud.
This is criminal conspiracy."
My phone buzzed on the table.
Derek.
*I know Martin came to see your lawyer.
Whatever he told her, he's confused and scared and he'll recant.
Call me.
We can still fix this.*
I showed Grace the screen.
She photographed it with her own phone.
May you like
"Attempting to influence a witness," she said.
"Add it to the file."
