Chapter 4 - THE CONTRACT THAT WOULD HAVE OWNED MY PAYCHECK
The so-called Family Support Agreement was twelve pages long.
It claimed I voluntarily promised to pay:
Penelope’s health insurance.
Genevieve’s vehicle expenses.
Property taxes.
House maintenance.
Utilities.
Emergency family costs.
Educational expenses for Chloe.
Indefinitely.
No cap.
No end date.
No reciprocal obligations.
It was absurd enough that Rebecca laughed once before catching herself.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I needed the reminder that documents could look official and still be ridiculous.
The signature was dated six years earlier.
Three months after Dad died.
Witness:
Denise Palmer.
Supporting attachment:
A handwritten note allegedly from me.
Mom and Gen should never have to worry again. I’ll take care of everything.
I had written those words.
In a sympathy card.
Not a contract.
I remembered.
Mom had cried about losing Dad’s income.
I wrote:
You and Gen should never have to worry alone. I’ll help take care of everything we can.
Someone removed half the sentence.
Turned grief into obligation.
Rebecca called it what it was:
potential evidence of fabrication.
Whether anyone would ever enforce such a paper successfully was another matter.
But Penelope believed in it enough to keep it.
Why?
Control.
The same reason she kept a behavior log on Bella.
Paper made her feel entitled.
Then the lender responded to the HELOC dispute.
The $420,000 had not funded.
Good.
But Penelope had applied for something else eight months earlier.
A reverse mortgage inquiry.
Denied because title did not match.
That meant she knew ownership was a problem before the HELOC application.
She did not make a mistake.
She went looking for a solution.
Then Rebecca found old emails between Penelope and Denise.
PENELOPE:
Mara never looks at estate papers.
DENISE:
That doesn’t mean we can change them.
PENELOPE:
I’m not asking you to change anything. I’m asking you to notarize what should have happened.
What should have happened.
That phrase stayed with me.
Then:
DENISE:
She legally owns it.
PENELOPE:
Because Thomas favored her.
Thomas.
My father.
Favor.
There was the deeper wound.
I called Genevieve.
For once, she answered.
“What did Mom tell you about the house?”
“That Dad left it to all of us.”
“He didn’t.”
“You got everything.”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
I sat down.
“What did I get that you didn’t?”
She laughed bitterly.
“The company.”
What company?
Dad had owned a small regional printing business.
Sold years before his death.
At least I thought.
Genevieve continued.
“Don’t pretend.”
“I’m not.”
“Dad left you the warehouse partnership.”
My pulse changed.
“What warehouse partnership?”
Silence.
Now she sounded confused.
“North Mesa.”
I had never heard of it.
Genevieve said Mom showed her papers after Dad died.
North Mesa Industrial Partners.
Apparently Dad owned 40%.
Value?
Unknown.
Mom told Genevieve he left it entirely to me because I was “the responsible one.”
I had never received it.
Rebecca searched probate.
Nothing.
Then she searched state business records.
North Mesa Industrial Partners still existed.
Current managing member:
Penelope Foster.
My mother.
Dad’s 40% had not gone to me.
It had been transferred to her six months before his death.
Signature:
Thomas Foster.
May you like
But Dad had been hospitalized and heavily sedated on the date the transfer was supposedly signed.
For the first time, I wondered whether my mother had been forging signatures long before she ever copied mine.
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