Chapter 3 - THE SIGNATURE OF A DEAD MAN
I didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Evelyn.
We spent hours going through records in the library while the rest of the family remained upstairs.
At 2:17 a.m., Evelyn found something.
“This.”
She rotated the laptop toward me.
It was an old business document.
My father's name was printed beneath a corporate guarantee.
The date was six months after his death.
I stared at it.
“That isn't possible.”
“No.”
Evelyn zoomed in.
“The signature is forged.”
I felt a strange mixture of relief and fear.
“Then why would someone forge my father's signature?”
“Because your father owned something valuable.”
“He left everything to me.”
“Exactly.”
Evelyn opened another file.
My father's original estate documents.
His company.
His investment portfolio.
And one final asset I had forgotten about.
A controlling interest in a private investment trust.
I frowned.
“I thought that was dissolved.”
“So did I.”
She clicked another file.
“It wasn't.”
The trust had been generating millions.
And someone had been quietly redirecting the money for years.
I whispered, “How much?”
Evelyn stared at the screen.
“Approximately eleven million.”
My stomach dropped.
Eleven million dollars.
Someone had stolen money from my father's estate while convincing me that the trust no longer existed.
Then I noticed something.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Marianne Callahan.
My mother-in-law.
I pushed back from the desk.
“She knew.”
“Probably.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“She knew everything.”
Evelyn didn't disagree.
At sunrise, I walked into the kitchen.
Marianne was drinking coffee as if nothing had happened.
Grant stood beside her.
“You've been investigating me,” he said.
“No.”
I looked at Marianne.
“I've been investigating you.”
She placed her cup down.
“You should be careful.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s advice.”
I smiled.
“Then here's mine.”
I placed the forged loan document on the table.
“My father's signature was used six months after his death.”
Grant's eyes flicked toward his mother.
That tiny movement told me more than any confession.
Marianne stood.
“You don't understand the history of this family.”
“I understand enough.”
“No, you don't.”
She leaned closer.
“Your father ruined people.”
“My father built his company.”
“He took opportunities from families who deserved them.”
“And that gives you permission to steal from me?”
Her expression changed.
For the first time, I saw something underneath the arrogance.
Fear.
“You should stop digging.”
I looked directly into her eyes.
“Why?”
She whispered,
“Because you may not like what you find.”
Then she walked away.
My phone vibrated.
Another anonymous message appeared.
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DIE KNOWING THE TRUTH. HE DIED TRYING TO PROTECT YOU FROM IT.
I read it twice.
Then a photograph arrived.
It showed my father standing beside a woman I had never seen before.
May you like
On the back was a handwritten note:
She knows why Marianne wants you gone.
