Chapter 3: The Woman Who Knew Too Much
I called the number back immediately.
It rang four times and I was already preparing to leave a message when a woman answered.
"I wasn't sure you'd call," she said.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
"My name is Diane Marsh.
I was Brandon's personal assistant for three years.
I left his firm six weeks ago."
I sat forward in my chair.
"Why did you leave?"
"Because I was asked to notarize a document I had never seen prepared.
I was told it was routine.
I was told you had already reviewed it." Her voice dropped slightly.
"I notarized it.
And then I went home and couldn't sleep for a week."
"What exactly did you notarize, Diane?"
"A Power of Attorney that would have given Brandon full legal authority over Redwood Capital Holdings.
Over all of it.
Every asset the company controls." She stopped.
"Including the River Oaks property."
I didn't speak.
My hand tightened around the phone.
"The document was prepared by a man named Clifford Pruitt," she continued.
"He's a notary and a paralegal.
Brandon has used him before for things he didn't want going through your attorney."
"How long has Pruitt been involved?"
"At least eight months.
Possibly longer.
I only know what I personally handled." She hesitated.
"Mr.
Harlan, your signature on that document — I believed it was real when I stamped it.
I want you to know that.
But when I saw the original paperwork afterward, I recognized the date.
You were in Dallas that week for a project review.
I checked."
I had been in Dallas.
I remembered the trip clearly because I had stayed an extra day to walk a job site with my foreman.
"You checked," I said.
"I kept a copy of everything before I left," Diane said.
"I didn't know what I was going to do with it.
But when I saw the listing inquiry come through a real estate contact this morning — someone Brandon reached out to about the River Oaks property — I knew I couldn't wait."
I set my pen down on the desk.
"He's already contacted a real estate agent?"
"Yesterday afternoon.
He told them he was the owner and wanted a private valuation.
No public listing."
The room was very quiet.
"Diane," I said.
"I need you to bring me everything you have.
Today."
She arrived at my house at eleven o'clock carrying a manila envelope and the careful expression of someone who had rehearsed being calm.
She was in her mid-forties, neatly dressed, and she sat across from me at the kitchen table without touching the coffee I poured.
She slid the envelope across without speaking.
I opened it.
The Power of Attorney was four pages.
My signature was on the third page, clean and confident, nothing shaky or rushed.
Whoever had produced it had not done it carelessly.
"This is a forgery," I said.
"Yes."
"And Pruitt notarized it."
"Yes."
I turned to the second document in the envelope.
It was an email chain between Brandon and Pruitt, printed on plain paper.
The earliest message was dated nine months ago.
*Need the POA structured so it transfers operational control of RC Holdings without triggering a taxable event.
Dad won't sign voluntarily.
We'll need to handle the signature separately.*
I read the line twice.
*Dad won't sign voluntarily.*
He had known.
He had planned it before the birthday dinner, before the sl\*ps, before the phone call at the red light.
The dinner had not been a moment where he lost control.
It had been a distraction.
"There's one more thing," Diane said quietly.
I looked up.
"Amber knew.
She was copied on two of those emails." Diane pointed to the last page in the envelope.
"She replied to one of them."
I found the reply.
Amber's message was four words.
*Make sure it holds.*
I placed the papers face-down on the table.
Outside, a truck moved slowly down my street.
The ordinary sound of an ordinary morning.
"Diane," I said.
"Are you willing to give a formal statement to my attorney?"
She looked at her hands.
Then back at me.
May you like
"That's why I came."
I called Gerald before she reached her car.
