Chapter 6 - The $75,000 Contract With My Forged Signature
By Monday, the number of suspicious documents had reached eleven.
My signature appeared on four.
Rachel spread them across her conference table.
Venue authorization.
Insurance acknowledgment.
Vendor access agreement.
Property transfer affidavit.
Different documents.
Same imitation.
“Whoever did this had good samples,” she said.
I thought of Blake photographing my study.
Dad unlocking the cabinet.
My chest tightened.
Then Rachel showed me another contract.
$75,000.
“What is that?”
“A venue exclusivity agreement.”
“With whom?”
“BM Luxury Events.”
I stared at her.
“They contracted my house to their own company?”
“Apparently.”
The agreement claimed I had accepted seventy-five thousand dollars in exchange for giving Blake's company exclusive commercial event rights for one year.
“I never received seventy-five thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“So where did it go?”
Rachel turned the page.
Payment marked:
Satisfied through family consideration.
I laughed.
“What does that even mean?”
“In this context? Very little.”
But it created paperwork.
That was Blake's strategy.
Not one perfect forgery.
A pile.
Enough documents that someone glancing quickly might assume an underlying agreement existed.
Rachel had already contacted the appropriate authorities and advised me not to destroy or alter anything.
I followed her instructions exactly.
Then Dad called from Aunt Helen's number.
I almost didn't answer.
But I did.
“Claire.”
His voice sounded different.
Tired.
“Dad.”
“I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because I found something.”
We met at Rachel's office.
Dad arrived carrying an envelope.
He didn't hug me.
I didn't offer.
He placed the envelope on the table.
Inside were bank statements.
Blake had borrowed money from Dad too.
A lot.
One hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
Dad looked ashamed.
“He told me it was for wedding deposits.”
“It wasn't?”
“Some was.”
“And the rest?”
Dad swallowed.
“I don't know.”
Rachel examined the transfers.
Several went directly to BM Luxury Events.
Dad rubbed his face.
“I thought I was helping Marissa.”
“You were.”
He looked up.
“That doesn't sound like forgiveness.”
“It isn't.”
He flinched.
For years, I would have softened that sentence.
Not anymore.
“Did you know Blake intended to transfer my property?”
“No.”
“Did you give him access to my study?”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said he needed the deed for insurance.”
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He couldn't answer.
So I answered for him.
“Because you assumed my permission was optional.”
His eyes filled.
Maybe he finally understood.
Maybe he simply hated hearing it said aloud.
Either way, I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
Then Dad reached into his jacket.
“One more thing.”
He handed Rachel a folded paper.
It was a photocopy of a document Blake had given him.
At the top:
FAMILY ASSET CONSOLIDATION AGREEMENT
My name appeared beneath it.
So did Dad's.
Mom's.
Marissa's.
Blake's.
“What is this?” I asked.
Dad whispered, “Blake said it was estate planning.”
Rachel read it.
Her expression hardened.
“This isn't estate planning.”
“What is it?”
“It's nonsense dressed in legal language.”
But buried inside was a clause claiming family assets could be contributed to a jointly managed company.
My house was specifically listed.
Dad looked sick.
“I signed it.”
“Did Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Marissa?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You all signed a document involving my house without me?”
“We thought—”
“Stop.”
He stopped.
“I don't want to hear what you thought.”
Dad lowered his head.
For the first time in my life, I watched my father experience what it felt like when I didn't rush to rescue him from discomfort.
Then Rachel's assistant knocked.
“Sorry. Claire, there's a woman here asking for you.”
“Who?”
“She says her name is Natalie Mercer.”
Blake's last name.
Rachel and I exchanged a glance.
“His sister?” I asked.
The assistant shook her head.
“No.”
She hesitated.
“She says she's his wife.”
The room became completely silent.
Dad looked up.
I stared at the doorway.
“His what?”
The woman outside had brought a marriage certificate.
May you like
And suddenly Marissa's wedding had a much bigger problem than the venue.
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