Chapter 2 - The Death Record
The document was not a valid death certificate.
Sarah made that clear before I let fear turn it into something it was not.
“It is an initiated electronic death record,” she explained. “It was never certified by a physician, never accepted by vital records, and has no legal effect.”
“Who starts one for a living person?”
“That’s the question.”
Julian sat in a chair near the wall now.
Hospital security remained beside the door.
Eleanor had been removed to the hallway after the nurse documented the slap and called hospital administration.
Victoria had gone quiet.
No smirk.
No laughing.
Sarah opened the printout.
The record contained my full legal name.
Date of birth.
Social Security number ending.
Home address.
Marital status.
Parents’ names.
Julian listed as surviving spouse.
The “date of death” field had been prefilled with that day’s date.
Time left blank.
Location:
Vance Memorial Women’s Pavilion.
Cause category:
Obstetric complication.
It looked like someone expected the missing details to be inserted later.
“How did you find it?”
Sarah looked at Julian.
“An attorney for the Vance Family Trust received an automated identity monitoring alert.”
My father had built layers around the company after my mother died.
He trusted contracts more than people.
At twenty three, I found that insulting.
At twenty nine, I wanted to kiss his grave.
The Vance Family Trust held every voting share of Vance Development.
I was trustee and current beneficiary.
On my death, the shares did not pass to Julian.
They transferred automatically into the Hazel Vance Descendants Trust, with an independent corporate trustee until Hazel reached certain ages.
Sarah served as trust protector.
Julian received no voting authority.
No ownership.
No automatic management role.
He knew that.
Or he should have.
Sarah continued.
“The alert came because the death record request attempted to validate estate information against a trust related identity service.”
“Who submitted?”
“A funeral home account.”
That made everyone stare.
“Which funeral home?”
“Mercer & Vale Memorial Services.”
Julian looked down.
I knew the name.
Eleanor’s brother, Raymond Mercer, owned it.
My stomach turned.
“Uncle Raymond?”
Julian said:
“He has nothing to do with this.”
Sarah looked.
“I did not say he did.”
“Then stop implying.”
“I’m reading the account.”
The electronic record had been initiated through funeral home credentials at 4:13 a.m.
My emergency C section began shortly after seven.
Julian had been at the hospital by four.
I remembered.
He arrived after nurses told him fetal monitoring was worsening.
He kissed my forehead.
Said:
“Everything will be okay.”
Had he already initiated this?
Maybe.
Maybe someone else used account.
Evidence would decide.
Then a hospital administrator entered with local police Detective Mara Collins.
Not dramatic handcuffs yet.
A report.
Eleanor’s assault.
Coercion.
Potential fraudulent documents.
Detective Collins introduced herself.
“Mrs. Vance, do you feel able to speak?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Patel had already documented I was alert, oriented, medically competent to make decisions.
That mattered because Julian’s documents depended on portraying me otherwise.
Collins asked security to separate Julian and Victoria.
Julian’s attorney? He didn’t have one present yet. He said he wanted lawyer.
Interview stopped.
Good.
No coercive police shortcuts.
Victoria also requested attorney after asking if she was under arrest.
She was not.
Eleanor, however, kept shouting in hallway.
“I barely touched her.”
Nurse documented:
Visible redness left cheek.
Patient reports pain.
Witnesses.
Audio recording.
The hospital banned Eleanor pending review.
Then Sarah opened the leather folder Julian had placed on me.
“Do not touch these without gloves now.”
Detective bagged.
The documents were fascinating in the worst way.
Medical power of attorney.
My signature line blank.
Witness lines prepared.
One witness:
Victoria Hale.
The mistress.
Another:
Eleanor Mercer.
Voting proxy.
Blank.
Deed.
Blank.
But a separate trust amendment already bore a signature resembling mine.
I stared.
“That isn’t mine.”
Sarah nodded.
“I know.”
It purported to amend Vance Family Trust six weeks earlier.
New terms:
On my death, 60 percent of Vance Development voting shares to Julian Mercer outright.
40 percent in trust for Hazel.
Julian appointed successor trustee.
Sarah removed as trust protector.
A notary stamp.
Witness:
Eleanor Mercer.
Victoria Hale.
I almost laughed.
It was that blatant.
“What date?”
Six weeks earlier.
I had been thirty five weeks pregnant.
I remembered that day.
I had spent morning at obstetric appointment and afternoon at Vance Development’s quarterly meeting.
Sarah had been with me at meeting.
I never signed.
Then Sarah said:
“My office has every executed trust amendment. This was never drafted by us.”
Julian looked at the floor.
Detective Collins asked:
“Who had access to original trust?”
I answered:
“My attorney. Me. A secure company vault.”
“And Julian?”
“Company copies of ownership summary. Not original estate documents.”
But he had recently asked where originals were.
I remembered.
At dinner.
“Shouldn’t we have trust originals at home in case something happens?”
I said Sarah had them.
He became irritated.
Then company.
Why now?
Vance Development had grown aggressively.
Four failing properties when Dad died.
Now twenty six mixed use developments across three states.
Approximate enterprise value around forty million.
Julian had joined seven years earlier.
He was smart.
Charming.
Good at operations.
I promoted him to COO because he could walk into a construction dispute and leave with everyone believing they had won.
He owned zero shares.
He knew.
For years he said he preferred earning salary rather than marrying for equity.
Apparently he had changed his mind.
Then Sarah handed me another page.
A draft board resolution.
“Where did you get?”
“Attached to the false trust amendment package.”
Resolution stated:
Due to death of controlling shareholder Genevieve Vance, Julian Mercer is appointed acting executive chairman and authorized to exercise voting control pending probate confirmation.
The date was blank.
Everything was waiting.
For me to die.
Or be declared incapable.
Two paths.
Sarah said:
“If you survived but were incapacitated, they needed the documents in the leather folder.”
“If I died?”
“They planned to use the false amendment.”
I looked at Julian’s empty chair.
Security had moved him to separate room while attorney came.
Two plans.
One for a living Genevieve.
One for a dead Genevieve.
Then Detective Collins received a message.
She read.
Her expression changed.
“The funeral home account used to initiate the death record was accessed from an IP address associated with Vance Development headquarters.”
My company.
Sarah and I looked at each other.
“What device?”
“Investigators are requesting records.”
Then another detail.
The login occurred at 4:13 a.m.
The building’s physical access system showed one employee badge entering headquarters at 3:58.
Victoria Hale.
May you like
The mistress who appeared in my hospital room wearing Julian’s coat had been inside my company before dawn.
And twenty minutes later, an electronic record began preparing for my death.
