ELLIOT
“That signature is mine.”
He said it to no one. The elevator walls gave nothing back.
He stood there with the phone in his hand and the doors closed around him and read the document again. Every line. Every number. His name at the bottom in the exact weight and slant he had used since university, the particular way he formed the V in Voss that his assistant once told him was distinctive enough to spot across a room.
It was his signature.
On a transaction he had never seen.
Fifteen million moved from a Voss Capital subsidiary account to a holding company with no public registration. Dated six weeks ago. Countersigned by legal. Stamped and processed and sitting in his company’s internal system like it belonged there, like it had always belonged there, like someone had built a do
