Chapter 2 - The Signature I Never Made
My uncle answered on the fourth ring.
“Ian.”
Not “Hey.”
Not “How are you?”
Just my name.
He already knew why I was calling.
“Did you notarize a lifetime occupancy agreement for Brookfield?”
Silence.
Then:
“You should talk to your father.”
“No.”
“Ian—”
“Did you notarize it?”
Another pause.
“I remember paperwork.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He sighed.
“You were helping your parents. Your dad brought me some documents.”
“Was I there?”
“No.”
“Then how did you verify my signature?”
He stopped speaking.
That was all I needed.
“Ray.”
“I thought you signed it beforehand.”
“You’re a notary.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to watch the person sign or verify the acknowledgment properly.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
His voice dropped.
“Your father said you were busy opening your second restaurant.”
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because that was the family excuse for everything.
Ian is busy.
Ian can handle it.
Ian won’t care.
Ian will fix it.
“Did Dad sign my name?”
“I didn’t see him do it.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
Clare sat across from me while I spoke.
Her face had gone pale.
I ended the call and immediately contacted attorney Rebecca Nolan, who had handled property matters for my restaurants.
She reviewed the photograph within an hour.
“This may be worthless,” she said.
“May be?”
“If it was forged, certainly. But we need the original, recording information, and any evidence of how it was created.”
“Could it stop the sale?”
“It could complicate it temporarily if they try to assert it.”
“Dad already is.”
“Then don’t argue with him about legal conclusions. Let me handle that.”
Rebecca ordered a title search.
Melissa suspended showings for twenty-four hours, not because my parents had won anything, but because she didn’t want buyers walking into a screaming match.
Dad took that as victory.
He texted:
I knew you’d come to your senses.
I replied:
The listing is still active.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
You’re destroying this family.
I looked at Clare.
“Apparently I’m destroying the family.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Busy week.”
I laughed despite myself.
That afternoon, something happened I did not expect.
Tessa showed up at one of my restaurants.
Not the one near my house.
The downtown location.
She had to drive forty minutes.
My manager called me before letting her into the office.
“She says it’s urgent.”
“Send her in.”
Tessa walked through the door holding an envelope.
She looked furious.
“You got Uncle Ray involved?”
“He involved himself five years ago.”
“You’re threatening his license now?”
“I haven’t threatened anyone.”
“You called a lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
“No, Tessa. It really isn’t.”
She tossed the envelope onto my desk.
“There.”
“What is it?”
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
“That Dad isn’t lying.”
I opened it.
Inside were handwritten notes.
One was dated five years earlier.
The handwriting looked like mine.
The sentence read:
Mom and Dad stay as long as they want. No rent. Don’t ever make them worry about losing the place.
I stared at it.
Tessa crossed her arms.
“Recognize that?”
“No.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“I didn’t write this.”
“You absolutely did.”
“No.”
“It was in Mom’s filing cabinet.”
I held it beside an old note from my desk.
At first glance, the handwriting looked close.
Too close.
But several letters were wrong.
Whoever copied my writing had worked from examples.
“Ian, stop.”
“I’m not stopping anything.”
She leaned forward.
“You said you’d take care of them.”
“I have.”
“Then prove it.”
“By giving away a house worth almost six hundred thousand dollars?”
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“You know the value?”
“Of course I know the value.”
She looked away.
That reaction bothered me.
“Tessa.”
“What?”
“Why does the price matter to you?”
“It doesn’t.”
“You asked Melissa last year what the house was worth, didn’t you?”
Her eyes snapped toward me.
I had guessed.
Now I knew.
“How did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
She swore under her breath.
I leaned back.
“Why were you asking my broker about the value of property you don’t own?”
“I was curious.”
“Tessa.”
“Dad was talking about renovations.”
“Which renovations?”
“The kitchen. Maybe the basement.”
“With what money?”
She hesitated.
Then reached for the envelope.
I moved it away.
“You’re done here.”
She glared at me.
“You think you’re so smart.”
“No. I think you’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
She turned toward the door.
Before leaving, she said something that stayed with me.
“You should’ve just left everything alone.”
That evening, Rebecca called.
The title search had found the occupancy document.
It had never been recorded.
That was good.
Then she continued.
“But something else was.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A financing statement tied to a company registered at the Brookfield address.”
“I don’t have a company there.”
“I know.”
“Whose company?”
May you like
There was a pause.
“Tessa’s.”
