Chapter 8: Exhibit J
My attorney's name was Claire Weston, and she arrived at the hotel at seven forty-five the next morning with two associates, a rolling case of files, and the particular expression she wore when she had been working since before dawn.
My father was already there.
He had ordered breakfast for everyone.
Claire ignored it.
"Exhibit J," she said, opening her laptop on the dining table, "is a set of internal communications between Nathan Brooks and a financial advisory firm called Meridian Structured Partners.
Meridian is registered in the Cayman Islands.
The communications span eighteen months and detail a series of transactions in which Nathan directed client funds — specifically the Hargrove family account and two other managed accounts — into Meridian-linked instruments that paid a referral fee back to a shell company." She turned the laptop to face us.
"The shell company is owned by a trust.
The trust's beneficial owner, as of the most recent filing, is listed as a family member."
She let that sit for a moment.
"Which family member?" my father said.
Claire looked at me, not at him.
"The trust is in the name of Diane Brooks," she said.
"Nathan's mother."
I set down my coffee cup.
"Nathan's mother has been receiving referral payments from client funds he was managing," I said.
"For at least eighteen months, based on what's in the exhibit.
Possibly longer — this is only what Prescott's team inadvertently included.
The full picture will require a subpoena of Meridian's records." Claire closed the laptop.
"Nathan almost certainly does not know this exhibit was included.
Prescott's team assembled the counter-proposal quickly — too quickly — and whoever pulled the exhibit file grabbed the wrong version.
The version with the trust documentation attached."
My father stood and walked to the window.
He looked out at the garden below for a moment.
"Diane," he said quietly.
I had met Diane Brooks four times.
She was a small, precise woman who wore her hair in a silver chignon and spoke to me with the particular courtesy of someone who has decided you are beneath consideration but has chosen not to say so directly.
At our wedding she had told me I looked "very lovely for a Savannah girl," and Nathan had laughed, and I had smiled, and that had been the template for everything that followed.
"Does Nathan know his mother is the beneficial owner of the trust?" I said.
"Unknown," Claire said.
"He may have set it up for her knowingly.
He may have set it up and allowed her to benefit without understanding the legal exposure.
Or she may have been involved in structuring it herself." She paused.
"Any of those three possibilities creates serious problems for him.
The third one creates serious problems for her as well."
"She'll claim she didn't know," my father said, still facing the window.
"She will," Claire agreed.
"Whether anyone believes her depends on what the Meridian records show."
My father turned back to the room.
"File the subpoena today.
I want Meridian's records before Nathan's team realizes what they sent us and tries to walk it back."
"Already drafted," Claire said.
"And Diane Brooks?"
Claire looked at me again.
Waiting.
I understood what she was waiting for.
"She knew," I said.
"I don't know how much she knew.
But she knew something.
She asked me once — about eight months ago — whether Nathan had ever discussed his investment structure with me.
I thought it was an odd question.
I told her no.
She seemed relieved." I looked at my father.
"Eight months ago is when the Meridian transactions started appearing in the exhibit."
My father nodded once.
"Include her in the inquiry," he said.
Claire made a note.
One of her associates leaned forward.
"There's one more thing.
Madison Blake's attorney contacted us this morning.
She's offering full cooperation with the fraud inquiry in exchange for a reduced exposure agreement on the Cook County matter.
She says she has documentation of her own — communications between Nathan and Gerald Howe that predate the recordings Sophia made."
"How far back?" my father said.
"She claims five years."
The room was quiet for a moment.
Five years.
Nathan and I had been married for three.
Which meant the conversations Madison had documented began two years before he married me.
Two years before he married me and one year before he asked my father to pay him to do it.
"Accept her cooperation," I said.
"Conditionally.
She provides the documentation first.
The agreement is contingent on verification."
Claire nodded and made another note.
My father looked at me across the table.
"You're sure?"
"Madison is not the main problem," I said.
"Nathan is.
Gerald is.
Diane may be.
Madison is a witness.
I'll take every witness I can get."
A knock at the suite door.
One of my father's men answered it and returned with a single envelope, which he brought to my father.
My father opened it, read the single page inside, and handed it to me without a word.
It was a message from Prescott.
*Mr.
Brooks wishes to request a private meeting with Mrs.
Brooks at her earliest convenience.
No attorneys present.
He states he has information relevant to her personal interests that he believes she would prefer to receive directly rather than through the legal process.*
I read it twice.
Then I looked at my father.
"He found out about exhibit J," I said.
"Yes," my father said.
"He wants to negotiate before it goes further."
"He wants to offer me something to make it stop."
"That would be my expectation."
I set the letter down on the table.
"Tell Prescott," I said, "that Mrs.
Brooks will not be meeting with Mr.
Brooks privately or otherwise.
And tell him that if Mr.
Brooks has information relevant to my personal interests, he is welcome to provide it through his legal counsel to mine, where it will be reviewed and handled appropriately."
Claire was already writing.
"And tell him," I said, "that the subpoena for Meridian Structured Partners was filed forty minutes ago."
One of Claire's associates looked up from her phone.
"Actually, it was filed thirty-two minutes ago."
"Thirty-two minutes ago," I said.
May you like
My father said nothing.
But he picked up his coffee cup and drank from it, and the corner of his mouth moved in a way that, for him, was the equivalent of a standing ovation.
