“I don’t,” I said. “My firm is just me, two junior drafters, and an administrative assistant. We operate out of three rooms on Court Street.”
My hand went back to my ring, turning it slowly.
“Someone filed an amendment to your articles of incorporation in October,” Julian said. “It uses your professional license number.”
“Mark,” I said.
“The address listed is a private mailbox rental on Northern Boulevard,” Julian said. “It is registered under a shell company called Northeast Logistics.”
“We do not have the signature pages yet,” Julian said. “But the filing fee was paid from a card registered to your sister.”
“Chloe does not even know what an article of incorporation is,” I said. “She has never worked a day in an office.”
“She does not need to,” Julian said. “She only needs to hand over her wallet.”
He marked a line on the paper with a yellow highlighter, the bright ink bleeding through the thin paper.
