Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE THAT LOOKED LIKE MINE
I was in Daniel’s office twenty minutes later.
He placed the form in front of me.
My name appeared at the bottom.
JESSICA MORGAN.
The signature looked good.
Too good.
Except I never signed Jessica.
I signed Jessi.
Always.
Even my mortgage closing documents said Jessi Morgan.
Whoever forged the form knew what my legal name was.
They just didn’t know me as well as they thought.
“Who submitted this?”
Daniel checked.
“Your father.”
Of course.
“He said you were traveling for work and wanted the family approved before the new year.”
“Did you approve it?”
“No.”
Relief came fast.
“Why?”
“Because changing permanent residents requires the owner to appear in person or submit notarized authorization.”
I almost laughed.
My family had apparently forgotten that expensive buildings tended to take paperwork seriously.
I photographed the form.
Then called an attorney named Rebecca Sloan.
We had worked together during a corporate acquisition the previous year.
When I finished explaining, she said:
“Do not confront them yet.”
“That was my plan.”
“Good.”
“There’s something else.”
I told her about the spare key.
The promise to Chloe.
The apartment.
Rebecca asked one question.
“Did your parents contribute money toward the purchase?”
I hesitated.
“Sort of.”
That phrase immediately bothered her.
“What does sort of mean?”
“When I bought the apartment, Dad transferred eighty thousand dollars toward the down payment.”
“Gift?”
“That’s what he called it.”
“Do you have documentation?”
“Probably.”
“Find it.”
I searched that night.
Seven-year-old emails.
Bank statements.
Closing files.
Then I found the transfer.
$80,000.
Sender:
MORGAN FAMILY TRUST — FBO JESSICA MORGAN.
FBO.
For benefit of.
That money had not come from Dad’s personal account.
It had come from a trust.
I called Rebecca.
“What trust?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you know you were a beneficiary?”
“No.”
That answer changed everything.
By morning, Rebecca had located the trust registration.
Created by my grandmother, Evelyn Morgan.
My grandmother died when I was twenty-one.
My parents told me she left me jewelry and “a little money for the future.”
Apparently, “a little” meant considerably more than eighty thousand dollars.
The original trust balance allocated to me had been:
$240,000.
I stared at the number.
“Where is the other $160,000?”
Rebecca’s voice became careful.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Then my phone buzzed.
Family group chat.
Chloe had posted a photograph of moving boxes.
Caption:
THREE WEEKS UNTIL OUR NEW HOME!!!
Mom added six heart emojis.
May you like
I typed nothing.
Because suddenly the apartment was no longer the biggest thing my family had taken without asking.
