The money that went to Halston Ridge Supply hadn’t stayed there. Within days of each payment, most of it had been moved again. To an account belonging to a different company. A company called
TM Strategic Consulting, LLC.
And according to the business registration Gordon had pulled from the state, the authorized agent for TM Strategic Consulting was Trevor Mallory.
TM.
Trevor Mallory.
I sat very still.
Helen was writing fast. Russell had his glasses back on and was leaning over the table, looking at the pages.
“That’s not all,” Gordon said quietly.
He reached into the very back of the folder and pulled out a stapled document. Maybe eight pages. He laid it on the table and turned it around so it faced me.
MINUTES OF SPECIAL MEETING OF SHAREHOLDERS
BUCKEYE MEDICAL SUPPLY, INC.
March 14, 2022
I read the first page.
It said that a meeting had been held in a private office at Buckeye’s warehouse on March 14, 2022. It said that Rebecca Hale, majority shareholder, had personally attended. It said that I had voluntarily
transferred sixty percent of my ownership in Buckeye Medical Supply to Trevor Mallory, giving him controlling interest in the company.
It said I’d done this “in consideration of his continued management of company operations during her legal difficulties.”
At the bottom of every single page, there was a signature.
My signature.
Or something that looked very, very much like it.
I read the date again.
Then again.
Then I put my finger on it, like I could hold it still.
“That’s impossible,” I said.
Russell looked up.
“Why?”
“Because on March 14, 2022, I was already in custody,” I said. “I was arrested in January. I couldn’t make bail. I was in the county jail from January until my trial in September. I didn’t leave that jail on March 14. I didn’t even go to court that day. I didn’t have a hearing. I was in a cell.”
The room went very quiet.
“I know exactly where I was,” I said. “I was in Pod C, bunk 14, in the Franklin County jail. I remember because it was my mother’s birthday. I asked the chaplain if I could call her grave. That’s a stupid thing to ask, I know. You can’t call a grave. But I asked.”
Nobody said anything.
“And this,” I said, tapping the paper, “says I was sitting in an office at our warehouse. Signing away my company.”
Gordon explained what had happened.
A few weeks after my arrest, Monica had come to his office with those meeting minutes. She’d
asked him to update Buckeye’s corporate stock ledger to show the transfer. To make Trevor the majority owner on paper.
“I asked her how Rebecca could sign this from jail,” Gordon said. “She said there was a lawyer who’d brought it to you. She said it was all done properly. I asked to see the lawyer’s paperwork. She said she’d send it.” He shook his head. “She never sent it.”
