Chapter 6 - The Signature That Wasn’t Mine
Rebecca’s office occupied the twelfth floor of a building overlooking Wilmington.
By 11:30 that morning, Austin and I were sitting across from her while Nathan Cole reviewed the security footage on a monitor.
Rebecca watched my brother carefully.
“You understand that I represent Laura, not you.”
“Yes.”
“If your interests conflict with hers, I cannot advise you.”
“I understand.”
“You should retain independent counsel.”
Austin nodded.
“I already called someone.”
That surprised me.
“Who?”
“A lawyer Dad once recommended.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows rose.
“Good.”
Nathan paused the video.
The image showed Dad’s study.
March 2.
Gregory entered alone.
He opened Dad’s desk drawer.
Removed a folder.
Photographed several pages.
Returned it.
Nothing obviously illegal.
But strange.
Next clip.
March 7.
Mother entered.
She sat at Dad’s desk for nearly twenty minutes without touching anything.
Then she opened the bottom drawer.
Pulled out Dad’s old stationery.
And cried.
The sight caught me unexpectedly.
Until that moment, all my anger had made it easy to forget she had lost someone too.
Whatever she had done after his death, grief had still happened before it.
Austin stared at the screen.
“I’ve never seen her cry like that.”
Neither had I.
Nathan advanced.
March 18.
Gregory entered with Marianne Vale.
They went directly to the safe.
Marianne entered the code.
“How does she know the combination?” I asked.
Austin shook his head.
“She shouldn’t.”
Gregory removed a flash drive.
Marianne photographed paperwork.
Then they left.
March 23.
Three days before Dad died.
Mother entered alone.
She opened the safe.
She looked inside.
Then stepped backward.
Her face changed.
Fear.
She closed it immediately.
Rebecca paused.
“What did she see?”
Nathan answered.
“We need the earlier footage.”
He rewound.
March 20.
Gregory.
Safe.
Envelope.
He placed something inside.
March 21.
Marianne removed something else.
March 22.
Nothing.
March 23.
Mother.
“What was in the envelope?” Austin asked.
Nathan zoomed.
The label was partially visible.
L. PRESCOTT – AUTHORIZATION
My stomach tightened.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“That may be the forged signature.”
Nathan nodded.
“We need the physical document.”
Austin rubbed his hands together.
“Gregory knows I downloaded this.”
“How?”
“I logged in through the backup system.”
“Could he see access history?”
“Probably.”
Nathan looked at him.
“Did you alter anything?”
“No.”
“Download everything?”
“Yes.”
“Original files?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Rebecca turned to me.
“The footage alone doesn’t prove who created the signature.”
“I know.”
Nathan closed one window and opened another.
“But this might help.”
A document appeared.
The $480,000 transfer authorization.
“We received a higher-resolution copy from the trustee this morning.”
He enlarged my signature.
Then pulled up authentic examples from previous documents.
At first glance, the forgery looked convincing.
But then I saw it.
The capital P.
Mine had changed over the years.
The forged version used an older style.
A style I had stopped using nearly seven years ago.
“Where did they get that?”
Nathan nodded.
“Exactly.”
Rebecca asked, “What documents carry this version?”
I thought.
Then remembered.
“My passport application.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Anything else?”
“Mortgage paperwork.”
Nathan searched the samples.
Then stopped.
“Military beneficiary designation.”
I stared.
“How do you have that?”
“Your father had a photocopy in his personal papers.”
Of course he did.
Dad kept everything.
Rebecca leaned toward the screen.
“So someone copied her signature from an older document.”
Nathan nodded.
“That would explain the mismatch.”
Austin said, “Mom had Dad’s records.”
I looked at him.
“She also kept copies of mine when I was younger.”
Rebecca held up one hand.
“Don’t jump.”
She was right.
Evidence first.
Emotions later.
Then Nathan opened metadata.
“The authorization document was created on March 19.”
“Computer?”
“Unknown.”
“Location?”
“File properties were scrubbed.”
Rebecca smiled without humor.
“Someone knew enough to cover tracks.”
“But not enough,” Nathan said.
He opened another field.
The document template had an embedded creator code.
MV-BK-04
Austin leaned forward.
“MV.”
Marianne Vale.
Nathan nodded.
“Possibly.”
“That’s enough to question her.”
“Not accuse her.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“Has she contacted you?”
“No.”
“Then whoever texted you may not be Marianne.”
Austin frowned.
“Why send Laura the hospital photo?”
“To direct us toward Marianne.”
“Because she did it.”
“Or because someone wants us to think she did.”
That landed.
I thought about Gregory.
He had seemed alarmed by Daniel’s accounting.
But not shocked by Marianne’s involvement.
My mother had seemed frightened.
Austin seemed genuinely blindsided.
Too many reactions.
Not enough proof.
Nathan’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at us.
“Found Marianne.”
“Where?”
“Baltimore.”
“Can we speak with her?”
Nathan held up a finger.
He kept listening.
His expression hardened.
“What hospital?”
Rebecca stood.
“What happened?”
Nathan ended the call.
“She was admitted early this morning.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Car accident.”
Austin whispered, “Jesus.”
“Serious?”
“Broken arm. Concussion. Stable.”
I exhaled.
Then Nathan added:
“Her car was hit from behind on an interstate ramp.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed.
“Coincidence?”
“We don’t know.”
“We don’t speculate,” I said automatically.
Austin gave me a look.
“You really can’t turn that off, can you?”
“No.”
Rebecca grabbed her coat.
“Let’s go.”
“To Baltimore?”
“Yes.”
Austin stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“You need to meet your lawyer.”
“But—”
Rebecca cut him off.
“Your sister is right.”
Austin looked at me.
I lowered my voice.
“Someone knows you took the footage.”
“So?”
“So stop acting like being stubborn is a security plan.”
His face hardened.
“You think Gregory would hurt me?”
“I think we don’t know what’s happening.”
That sobered him.
I handed him Nathan’s card.
“Send copies of everything to your attorney. Do not meet Mom or Gregory alone. Don’t delete anything.”
He looked almost offended.
“I’m not stupid.”
I held his gaze.
“No. You’re scared.”
His shoulders dropped slightly.
“Yeah.”
“So am I.”
That surprised him.
Good.
Maybe honesty was contagious.
Two hours later, Rebecca and I entered Marianne Vale’s hospital room.
She was awake.
Bruised.
Left arm in a sling.
She looked at me and immediately whispered:
“You’re Charles’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Rebecca closed the door.
“I’m Laura’s attorney.”
Marianne looked toward the hallway.
“Is Gregory here?”
“No.”
“Does he know I’m alive?”
My blood ran cold.
“What exactly are you afraid of?”
She started crying.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
The tears of someone who had held panic inside too long.
“I didn’t steal your father’s money.”
I pulled a chair closer.
“Then tell me who did.”
She closed her eyes.
“I helped hide it.”
Rebecca and I exchanged a glance.
Marianne continued.
“Gregory told me Charles was transferring funds to protect the family before medical expenses destroyed the estate.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know all of it.”
“Estimate.”
“Millions.”
I felt the word physically.
Rebecca remained calm.
“What did you personally do?”
Marianne stared at the blanket.
“I created shell-company records.”
Austin’s Northbridge.
“Did you forge my signature?”
She hesitated.
Then shook her head.
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Marianne.”
“I swear.”
Her breathing accelerated.
“I created the template. Gregory gave me a scan and told me Laura had approved it verbally.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“What scan?”
“Your signature.”
“From where?”
“He already had it.”
My pulse quickened.
“Did my mother know?”
Marianne looked at me.
This time she didn’t answer immediately.
“Not at first.”
“At first?”
“She thought Gregory was moving Charles’s money to keep it from you.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Rebecca asked, “And later?”
Marianne swallowed.
“Later Evelyn realized the money wasn’t going to Austin.”
“Where was it going?”
Marianne looked toward the door again.
“Gregory had debts.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
Then she whispered something worse.
“He used Charles’s money to cover them.”
Rebecca asked, “How much?”
Marianne’s eyes returned to me.
“More than six million dollars.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I thought of Dad.
Sick.
Watching accounts change.
Trying to build protections while the people closest to him explained away his suspicions as confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
Marianne started crying harder.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The hospital.”
March fourteenth.
The photograph.
“You were there to warn him.”
She nodded.
“Gregory came with me because he found out.”
“What happened?”
“He took Charles’s phone.”
My stomach clenched.
“Why?”
“To delete messages.”
“Did he?”
“I think so.”
Rebecca asked, “What about the trust authorization?”
Marianne shook her head.
“I didn’t know about the transfer until afterward.”
“Who submitted it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who had access to the family-office email?”
She stared at me.
“Gregory.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Marianne hesitated.
Then said the one name I had been hoping not to hear.
May you like
“Your mother.”
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