Chapter 14 - Brooke’s Mother Comes to My Door
I stared at the signature.
It looked like mine.
Very good.
Not perfect.
I had spent almost seven decades writing my name.
I knew where my pen pressure changed.
Whoever forged it had practiced.
“Where did this come from?”
Patricia sat down slowly.
“Brooke gave it to me months ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“She forged my signature?”
“I don’t know.”
“Patricia.”
“I truly don’t.”
She explained.
Brooke had shown her the document and said Daniel had finally convinced me to begin transferring the house.
Patricia thought it was legitimate.
Then the transfer never appeared in county records.
She assumed plans changed.
“Why did you keep it?”
“Brooke left a folder at my house.”
“Does Daniel know?”
“No.”
We called Samuel immediately.
He drove over.
His reaction was immediate.
“This was never recorded.”
“So it has no effect?”
“Correct.”
“Then why create it?”
That question mattered.
Maybe someone intended to use it as leverage.
Maybe it was a draft.
Maybe evidence of a larger plan.
Samuel examined the notary seal.
Then frowned.
“I know this notary.”
“Who?”
“Madison Reed.”
Brooke’s former manager.
Everything seemed to lead back to Madison.
We called Rachel.
Then Daniel.
Then Brooke.
They arrived together.
When Brooke saw the deed, she stopped walking.
“Where did you get that?”
Patricia stood.
“You gave it to me.”
Brooke’s face went white.
“I didn’t sign this.”
“No one said you did.”
“I mean—I didn’t ask her to create this version.”
The room became silent.
“Version?” Samuel asked.
Brooke sat.
Then the entire truth emerged.
Months earlier, Brooke had asked Madison to draft a sample transfer document so she could show Daniel “what the process might look like.”
Madison found a deed template.
Brooke provided a copy of my signature from a Christmas card.
My chest tightened.
“You gave her my signature?”
Brooke began crying.
“I told her it was only for a mock-up.”
Samuel’s voice hardened.
“A mock-up does not need a forged signature or a notarization.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you ever intend to file it?”
“No.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Did you show me this?”
“No.”
“Were you going to?”
Brooke lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
His face crumpled.
The progress between them suddenly looked fragile.
Brooke reached toward him.
He stepped back.
“Daniel…”
“You told me there were no more secrets.”
“I forgot about this.”
“You forgot forging my mother’s name?”
“I didn’t forge it!”
“You gave someone her signature.”
She cried harder.
Benjamin began fussing from his carrier.
I walked over.
“Enough.”
Everyone stopped.
Not because I shouted.
I didn’t.
“Take care of the baby.”
Brooke lifted him.
The sight grounded the room.
There was a child here.
Adults needed to behave like adults.
I looked at Samuel.
“What happens now?”
The document had never been filed.
But creating and falsely notarizing it could still have serious consequences.
Samuel recommended turning it over to investigators already reviewing Madison’s account-access attempt.
Brooke agreed.
That mattered.
She could have tried to hide it.
Instead she signed a statement explaining her role.
Daniel left alone afterward.
Brooke remained sitting on my couch.
“I ruined it again.”
“You damaged it.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
I sat across from her.
“Ruined means there is nothing you can do next.”
She stared.
“You keep thinking consequences mean the end of your life.”
She looked toward Benjamin.
“I’m afraid Daniel will leave.”
“He might.”
She flinched.
“I’m not going to lie to comfort you.”
Tears rolled down her face.
“What do I do?”
“Tell the truth.”
“I did.”
“Then keep doing it tomorrow.”
That is the problem with change.
People want one dramatic apology to erase a thousand bad habits.
Real change is boring.
It is telling the truth again.
And again.
And again.
Especially when lying would be easier.
Daniel stayed at a hotel for three nights.
Then returned to the condo.
Not because he had forgiven Brooke completely.
Because they had a counseling session scheduled and he wanted to attend.
The police investigation into Madison expanded.
She eventually admitted creating the deed but claimed Brooke intended to use it.
Brooke denied that.
There was no proof either way.
The prosecutor focused instead on the false notarization and attempted financial access, where digital evidence was stronger.
Months of legal proceedings remained.
But I refused to let them dominate my life.
I started making changes to the house.
Not renovations for social media.
Changes for me.
I repainted the living room a warm green Harold once suggested.
I returned family photographs to the hallway.
I converted Brooke’s former filming room into a library.
And I finally opened the one room nobody had touched since Harold died.
His workshop.
Dust covered everything.
Tools hung in perfect rows.
A half-finished wooden rocking horse sat beneath a sheet.
I pulled it away.
My breath caught.
The horse was small.
Child-sized.
A note was taped beneath the saddle.
For the grandkid, whenever Daniel finally gets around to it.
I laughed and cried at the same time.
Harold had started building it before anyone knew Benjamin would exist.
I called Daniel.
“Come over.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“For once, yes.”
He arrived with Brooke and Benjamin.
When Daniel saw the rocking horse, he covered his mouth.
Brooke cried.
We carried it into the living room.
There were unfinished edges.
One leg needed sanding.
Daniel ran his hand across it.
“I could finish it.”
I smiled.
“Your father would like that.”
He spent every Saturday for the next month in Harold’s workshop.
And with each layer of varnish, my son seemed to rebuild something in himself too.
But before the rocking horse was finished, Brooke received a summons.
Madison’s attorney planned to argue that Brooke had directed the forged deed.
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And if they convinced investigators, Brooke could face charges too.
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