Chapter 12 - THE SIGNATURE THAT WASN'T HIS
Addison did not believe Dwayne.
That was fair.
“The signature is yours.”
“It looks like mine.”
“Authorization token is yours.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain.”
“I can’t.”
She stared.
For the first time since L’Aura, fear entered her eyes.
Not theatrical.
Not weak.
Real.
Dwayne hated it.
“Until we know, don’t be alone with me.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
“If there’s even a chance I signed something I don’t remember—”
“You think you ordered my death and forgot?”
“No.”
“But?”
“I think you deserve not to gamble on my confidence.”
That stopped her.
Nathan said quietly:
“That’s surprisingly sane.”
“Don’t spread it around.”
Forensics examined the signature.
The token had been used from Dwayne’s office computer.
Timestamp:
2:43 a.m., fourteen months earlier.
Dwayne checked his calendar.
He had been in surgery.
Gunshot wound.
Unconscious.
Only three people had office access.
Simon.
Celeste.
Addison.
Addison looked offended.
“I was in Cincinnati for my aunt’s funeral.”
Verified.
Celeste shook her head.
“I was still hiding.”
Verified by border records.
Simon was in Miami.
Verified through casino cameras.
Then who?
Security logs revealed one badge.
Old administrative credential.
Inactive employee.
Name:
Mara Cross.
Dwayne’s younger sister.
His dead younger sister.
He sat down.
“No.”
Addison exhaled.
“How did she die?”
“Overdose.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Body?”
Dwayne looked at her.
She winced.
“Sorry. Had to ask.”
Closed casket?
No.
He saw her.
He held her hand in the hospital.
She was dead.
So the credential did not mean Mara was alive.
Someone used her badge.
Margaret looked guilty.
Dwayne noticed.
“You know.”
She closed her eyes.
“I kept the badge.”
“Why?”
“Mara gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Before she died.”
“And?”
“Simon knew.”
There it was.
Simon had not personally used the badge.
He gave it to someone.
Federal agents traced building cameras.
Face obscured.
Woman.
Height five-six.
Walked with a slight limp.
Celeste froze.
“I know that walk.”
“Who?”
“Vincent’s old accountant.”
Name:
Irene Vale.
Margaret’s older sister.
Dwayne’s aunt.
Apparently living in Arizona.
Actually not.
Irene had spent years managing Vincent’s hidden accounts.
She believed Rourke blood had corrupted the Cross line.
Addison, another Rourke, represented contamination.
So she authorized termination.
“Where is she?”
Federal agents found her before dawn.
Hotel near JFK.
Packed.
Passport.
Cash.
No fight.
During interrogation, Irene admitted forging Dwayne’s signature.
Then confessed something else.
Mara’s overdose had not been accidental.
Dwayne’s face emptied.
“What?”
Irene had supplied the drugs.
Why?
Because Mara discovered Dwayne’s adoption records and planned to tell him.
Dwayne left the room.
Addison followed to the hallway.
This time he did not tell her to leave.
“My sister was twenty-one.”
“I know.”
“She hated drugs.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You told me once.”
He looked at her.
“I did?”
“Three years ago. You were drunk after a meeting.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I do.”
Of course she did.
Addison stood beside him.
No touching.
Just there.
Then Dwayne whispered:
“I built my life around lies dead people left me.”
Addison answered:
“Then stop building with them.”
He looked at her.
That was the moment something finally became unavoidable.
Not attraction from the dress.
Not fascination from the dinner.
Something harder.
May you like
Respect.
And maybe the beginning of something dangerous for both of them.
