Chapter 4 - THE SIGNATURE I NEVER WROTE
My name appeared at the bottom of the document in flowing blue handwriting.
It looked almost right.
Almost.
But the letter E was too rounded, and the final stroke of my surname curved upward.
I had never written my name that way.
Rebecca enlarged the signature.
“Do you recognize it?”
“No.”
“Did you meet with this notary?”
“Never.”
She pointed toward the seal.
Peter Dunn.
I recognized the name.
He had worked with my father for years and attended Brianna's high school graduation.
“Is this enough to take the house?” I asked.
“No. The property is already held by the trust, and this document doesn't establish that your mother owns it. But we need to address the forgery and any attempt to use it.”
Rebecca began making calls.
Within an hour, we had obtained a written statement from the hospital confirming that I had spent most of the relevant afternoon with Grandpa.
I had also signed a nursing visitor log that carried my actual signature.
Rebecca arranged to preserve those records and referred the suspicious document to the appropriate authorities.
Then she checked the notary's commission.
Her face changed.
“What?”
“Peter Dunn's commission expired before the date shown on this document.”
I stared.
The notarization appeared to be invalid.
My parents hadn't even been careful enough to check whether their accomplice was still authorized to perform the act.
Rebecca contacted Northstar's legal department and the relevant financial institutions to warn them that my authority as trustee was being misrepresented.
While she worked, I went downstairs.
Mom was packing Grandpa's silverware into a cardboard box.
“Put that down.”
She turned.
“Don't speak to me like that.”
“Did you forge my signature?”
Her hand stopped.
“What?”
“On a document transferring my rights to you.”
Dad appeared from the kitchen.
“Emily, don't start.”
I looked at him.
“Did you forge it?”
He moved closer.
“Your grandfather intended to provide for everyone. We were simply correcting an unfair arrangement.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Mom slammed the box shut.
“You have no idea what we've sacrificed for this family.”
I laughed.
It escaped before I could stop it.
“What have you sacrificed for me?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
For seventeen years, I'd imagined having this conversation.
I'd imagined demanding to know why they left.
I'd imagined them finally explaining that there had been some terrible misunderstanding.
Instead, they stood in Grandpa's kitchen, discussing property as though I were a stranger preventing a business transaction.
Dad lowered his voice.
“Look, if you cooperate, we can make sure you're taken care of.”
“I already have a home.”
His expression hardened.
“You think a house makes you independent?”
“No.”
I met his eyes.
“Grandpa taught me how to be independent.”
Mom suddenly grabbed her purse.
“We're leaving. But this is not over.”
I believed her.
Within an hour, the moving truck was gone.
The driveway was empty.
And for the first time since Grandpa's funeral, the house was quiet.
I went into his study and sat in his old leather chair.
There was an envelope beneath the desk blotter.
My name was written across it.
I recognized Grandpa's handwriting immediately.
Inside was a letter dated six months earlier.
Emily,
Your parents may try to convince you that I made these decisions because you persuaded me to. I made them because I know exactly what happened when you were five.
My hands began to tremble.
I continued reading.
I have spent seventeen years protecting you from the worst part of that story. Before I die, I want you to know the truth. Rebecca has the documents.
Then came the final sentence.
Your parents didn't simply leave you here because they couldn't take care of you.
They offered to take you home in exchange for the deed to this house.
I read the sentence again.
Then a third time.
May you like
At five years old, I hadn't been an unwanted child left with a relative.
I had been something my parents tried to trade.
