Chapter 2 - MY SIGNATURE WAS ALREADY ON IT
The envelope wasn't supposed to exist.
I knew that before the officer even opened it.
My sister had always been manipulative.
She lied.
She guilted.
She weaponized our parents.
But preparing legal paperwork in advance meant this wasn't a spontaneous act of selfishness.
It was a plan.
The airport officer broke the seal while his partner activated his body camera.
Inside were six pages.
The first page was titled:
TEMPORARY GUARDIAN AUTHORIZATION.
I read the first paragraph twice.
Then a third time.
It stated that I, Brooke Elizabeth Carter, had voluntarily agreed to assume temporary care of Lily Bennett for fourteen days, including permission to authorize medical treatment and domestic air travel.
I felt cold.
“That's fake.”
The officer looked at me.
“You didn't sign this?”
“No.”
My signature appeared on the last page.
It looked almost perfect.
But I knew my own handwriting.
The final loop in Carter was wrong.
So was the date.
I had supposedly signed it four days earlier.
Four days earlier, I had been in Chicago presenting a branding proposal to a hotel group.
I had receipts.
Security logs.
Plane tickets.
Probably twenty witnesses.
Mark arrived twenty-three minutes later.
I almost didn't recognize him.
The last time I'd seen him had been during one of Jessica's ugly post-divorce family dinners. He had looked exhausted and defeated.
Today he looked furious.
Not loud.
Not reckless.
Controlled.
Which somehow seemed more dangerous.
Lily saw him and screamed, “Daddy!”
She ran into his arms.
Mark dropped to one knee and held her so tightly that his eyes closed.
That moment erased years of Jessica telling us he was cold.
Lily clung to him like she'd been waiting for permission to breathe.
“I'm sorry,” she sobbed.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
“Mommy said you would be angry.”
“Never at you.”
He stood and looked at the documents.
His attorney joined us by speakerphone.
When I explained the forged signature, she asked the officer to preserve the paperwork as evidence.
Then Mark noticed something I hadn't.
“Brooke.”
He pointed at the second page.
“Look at the witness.”
I followed his finger.
The document had supposedly been witnessed by our mother.
Eleanor Carter.
My stomach dropped.
Mom hadn't simply known what Jessica was doing.
She had participated in creating the paperwork.
The officer continued reading.
Then he paused.
“This is interesting.”
“What?”
“This authorization says Ms. Carter is accompanying the child under an existing airline reservation.”
I shook my head.
“Lily isn't on my reservation.”
The officer looked toward the airline supervisor.
She had been typing rapidly into her terminal.
Suddenly she stopped.
Her face changed.
“Actually,” she said, “she is.”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
“Someone added Lily Bennett to your Maui itinerary yesterday afternoon.”
My mouth went dry.
“I didn't.”
“She has a confirmed seat three rows behind yours.”
Mark stared at me.
The supervisor continued.
“The change was made through your online account.”
“That isn't possible.”
She rotated the monitor slightly away, protecting the passenger information.
“Your login credentials were used.”
I reached for my phone.
Then I remembered something.
Two weeks earlier, while I was at my parents' house helping Dad deal with the supposed car-repair crisis, Mom had asked to borrow my laptop.
Just for a minute.
She said she needed to print an insurance form.
My airline password was saved in the browser.
Mark's attorney spoke through the phone.
“Brooke, change every password you have. Email first. Banking second.”
I was already moving.
Before I could finish, the airline supervisor spoke again.
“There's something else.”
Nobody answered.
She looked directly at me.
“The ticket for Lily wasn't purchased with Jessica Bennett's credit card.”
“Whose card?”
“Yours.”
I actually laughed.
One sharp, disbelieving sound.
“That is impossible.”
She gave me the last four digits.
I recognized them immediately.
It was my emergency credit card.
The card I kept locked inside my home office.
The card I hadn't used in almost eight months.
Then Mark asked the question I suddenly didn't want answered.
“Who has access to Brooke's apartment?”
I thought about it.
Then my stomach turned.
Only three people besides me had ever had a spare key.
Jessica.
May you like
Mom.
And Dad.
