She could not have held a pen, let alone signed a transfer of fifty million dollars to a Delaware shell company.

“Daniel,” I whispered, holding the phone out to him.

His eyes scanned the document quickly, his brow furrowing as he took in the details.

“This is a forgery,” he said, his voice barely audible over the rising noise in the room.

“And it was uploaded just minutes ago from an active server.”

The three men in dark suits walked down the center aisle of the ballroom.

The heavy gold chandeliers above cast sharp shadows across the polished oak floor.

One of them, a tall man with graying hair, pulled a laminated badge from his breast pocket.

“State Bureau of Investigation,” he announced, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.

“Mr. Vance Harrison?” he asked, looking at the developer.

Vance took a step back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.

“I have nothing to do with this,” Vance said quickly.

“My company, Harrison Holdings, was merely evaluating a potential partnership with the Hart Foundation.”

“That is not what your signed letter of intent says,” Rachel noted, stepping forward.