Chapter 7 - THE DOCTOR'S LETTER
The competency issue arrived two days later.
Not from Serena.
From Malcolm’s own doctor.
Or apparently from him.
A letter circulated anonymously to two Vale board members.
It claimed Malcolm had recently shown:
memory lapses,
irregular sleep,
increased suspiciousness,
and impaired judgment under stress.
One director called Eleanor immediately.
“Is Malcolm ill?”
Eleanor nearly exploded.
Malcolm did not.
He called Dr. Peter Lawson.
Lawson was furious.
“I wrote no such letter.”
The document used his letterhead.
His signature looked authentic.
The wording did not.
Vale security traced the PDF metadata.
It had been created on a laptop registered to Cross Family Office.
Lucas.
Now the matter changed.
Forgery.
Potential market manipulation.
Possible attempted interference with corporate governance.
Lucas denied creating it personally.
His assistant had access.
His attorney said the metadata proved device origin, not author.
Correct.
Again, reality resisted easy villainy.
Then Thomas Reed found building-access footage.
Lucas entering Cross Family Office at 11:42 p.m. the night before the letter appeared.
His assistant had left at six.
Not conclusive.
Useful.
Malcolm referred the document to authorities and the board’s independent committee.
He also did something Serena never expected.
He underwent a full cognitive evaluation voluntarily.
Not because he doubted himself.
Because he refused to let pride become vulnerability.
The results showed no impairment beyond ordinary age-related changes.
The board received the report.
The “paranoid billionaire” narrative weakened.
Then Dr. Lawson found another clue.
Three months earlier, Serena had asked his office manager how durable medical powers worked after marriage.
Not illegal.
Not even inherently suspicious.
But combined with everything else?
Pattern.
Malcolm sat alone in his study that night.
On the desk lay:
the gray wig,
the forged medical letter,
the unsigned governance addendum,
and one shard of broken porcelain Thomas had saved from the great room.
Eleanor entered.
“You should throw that away.”
“Which one?”
“The porcelain.”
Malcolm smiled faintly.
“Why?”
“Because you’re turning one ugly night into a shrine.”
He looked at her.
“Was I a fool?”
Eleanor answered immediately.
“Yes.”
He laughed.
Then she added:
“Not for loving her.”
That hurt more.
“For ignoring what you saw because you liked how love felt.”
May you like
Malcolm looked down.
Fair.
