She lives off our parents, my brother Anthony said to his inner circle in the back room of the port tavern.
The next morning, the port office hummed with an unsettling tension. Vic Salerno himself arrived, flanked by two more men, his suit immaculate despite the humid dock air. With him was Geno Kroll, a small, nervous man in an ill-fitting suit, clutching a briefcase.
“DeLuca Transport is mine, effective immediately,” Salerno announced, his voice smooth as polished stone, yet with an iron edge. “Due to overdue payments, and a few… administrative adjustments.”
Anthony stood beside him, shoulders slumped, looking more like an accomplice than a victim.
“Administrative adjustments?” I repeated, stepping forward. “What adjustments?”
Geno Kroll cleared his throat, pushing his spectacles up his nose. He produced a stack of legal-sized documents. “These are the certified minutes from an emergency board meeting held last week, Ms. DeLuca. Your 25% voting stake in DeLuca Transport has been officially transferred.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Transferred? To whom? I never authorized a transfer.”
Kroll slid a document across the polished conference table. It was a formal corporate resolution, complete with a notary seal and a signature that vaguely resembled mine, but was clearly a forgery. The seal itself was a circle of intricate lines, reading “Notary Public, Pennsylvania.”
“This resolution was properly witnessed and filed,” Kroll stated, his eyes darting between Salerno and me. “It removes your voting rights, effective seven days ago. The shares revert to the existing board members, as per the articles of incorporation, should a member become… inactive.”
“Inactive?” I scoffed. “I’m standing right here. And this signature isn’t mine. It’s a blatant forgery.”
Salerno stepped closer, his gaze chilling. “Signatures can be… interpreted, Ms. DeLuca. Especially when accompanied by the correct legal instruments.” He tapped the document with a manicured finger. “And the notary seal confirms everything.”
My eyes fixated on the seal. The name embossed around the edge was “Eleanor Kroll.” My mind raced, trying to place it. Then it clicked.
“Eleanor Kroll?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Geno, isn’t Eleanor your cousin? The one who died three years ago?”
Geno Kroll visibly flinched, a flicker of panic in his eyes. He stumbled over his words. “My… my cousin was a notary. A very diligent one.”
“She’s been dead for three years,” I pressed, the pieces falling into place. “How could she have stamped these documents last week?”
Salerno’s smooth facade cracked for a split second, a flash of irritation in his eyes. Geno Kroll’s face turned ashen. The room fell silent, save for the hum of the old fluorescent lights. The ‘administrative adjustment’ wasn’t just a dirty deal; it was a criminal act, stamped by a ghost.
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