Chapter 7 - The Lawyer Mason Found for My Wife
The attorney was named Paul Grayson.
He practiced estate planning in Cambridge.
Nothing about him initially looked corrupt.
Olivia contacted him claiming we wanted to simplify property transfers because of my family cardiac history.
She scheduled a meeting.
I attended by video between work calls.
I remembered it vaguely.
Grayson explained a marital agreement and beneficiary coordination.
I electronically signed after receiving what I believed was a standard schedule.
The final stored version contained two pages I did not remember reviewing.
Daniel compared digital audit records.
The pages had been inserted before my signature session, not afterward.
So no simple forged attachment.
I had technically received them.
I simply hadn’t read carefully.
That mattered.
Olivia had not needed to forge everything.
She exploited my inattention.
The agreement gave her significant assets if I died.
Still not everything.
“Enough to kill me for?”
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“Motive is not arithmetic.”
Then Luis Ortega, the forensic accountant Daniel hired, followed Mason’s finances.
Mason was drowning.
Gambling losses.
Tax debt.
A failed sports-rehabilitation franchise.
Nearly $380,000 owed across personal loans and business guarantees.
Olivia had transferred him $47,000 over eighteen months.
Her attorney called them loans.
There were no notes.
No repayment schedule.
Then came hotel receipts.
Weekend trips when Olivia claimed to be visiting her mother.
The affair was real.
Mara looked almost disappointed.
“I knew it.”
“I’m thrilled for you.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
But adultery was not the twist.
It was merely another secret binding them together.
Then Luis found a payment from Olivia to Mason six weeks before my final collapse.
$85,000.
Memo:
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The money came from a home-equity line tied to property Olivia owned before our marriage.
She had borrowed against her own house.
Why?
Mason used $60,000 immediately to pay a creditor threatening litigation.
Then something strange happened.
That creditor was not a bank.
It was North Atlantic Clinical Partners.
A medical investment company.
Mason had invested in a rehabilitation facility through them.
So had I.
Except I hadn’t known Mason owned part of it.
Through a shell LLC, he was effectively my silent business partner.
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And three weeks before I “died,” my finance team had begun an audit of that facility.
Mason had another reason to need me unavailable.
