There was a Bellamy authorization letter attached.
Seraphina enlarged the signature.
Her signature.
Except she had never signed it.
“Julian.”
“We confirmed it’s fraudulent.”
Her hand tightened around the tablet.
“Who submitted this?”
“Grant’s office.”
“Who generated the attachment?”
“We traced the metadata.”
Seraphina already knew the answer before he said it.
“Delaney Cross.”
The humiliation in the kitchen suddenly seemed small.
This was not simply infidelity.
Grant and Delaney had forged Bellamy Holdings authorization documents to attract outside investors.
If the filing had proceeded, dozens of lenders could have extended credit under false assumptions.
It was fraud.
Possibly criminal fraud.
Seraphina stared at the screen.
“Do they know we discovered it?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
“What are you going to do?”
Seraphina walked toward the mirror.
“Attend a charity gala.”
At eight forty-seven that evening, Grant Holloway sat beneath a ceiling of suspended glass lights and believed his life was about to change.
