Chapter 2 - THE FORGED SIGNATURE
I knew my own signature.
The one on the Hawthorne paperwork was almost perfect.
Almost.
The curve in the D was wrong.
The final stroke in Carter tilted upward.
Mine never did.
I held the page higher.
“You forged my name.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who signed this?”
“I can explain.”
“Do it.”
Her father stepped beside her.
“Daniel, you are making accusations without understanding the situation.”
I turned toward him.
“You have ten seconds before I call the police.”
His expression changed.
Rebecca rushed forward.
“Nobody forged anything.”
I pointed at the document.
“I didn’t sign this.”
“You signed dozens of papers last month.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I signed catering contracts.”
“You signed insurance documents.”
“I never authorized anyone to take Emily anywhere.”
Rebecca lowered her voice.
“Hawthorne isn’t a prison.”
Emily heard her.
She started crying again.
That ended the discussion.
I pulled out my phone.
Rebecca grabbed my wrist.
“Daniel, don’t.”
I looked down at her hand.
“Let go of me.”
She released me.
My mother, Carol, came forward with Emily.
“Sweetheart, maybe we should get her out of here.”
I nodded.
But Emily refused to move.
“I want Daddy.”
I took her back into my arms.
Then I called my attorney.
His name was Thomas Hale.
He had handled my business affairs for eleven years.
He answered on the second ring.
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting married?”
“Apparently not.”
Silence.
“Daniel?”
“I need you at St. Matthew’s Chapel.”
“What happened?”
“Someone forged my signature on documents involving Emily.”
His voice changed immediately.
“I’m coming.”
Rebecca laughed once.
It sounded nervous rather than amused.
“This is insane.”
I looked at her.
“What is Hawthorne?”
“A school.”
“For what?”
“Children who need structure.”
“My daughter is seven.”
“And she is struggling.”
“She lost her mother.”
Rebecca’s jaw tightened.
“That was four years ago.”
I stared at her.
Emily had been three when my wife, Laura, died after a sudden illness.
For almost a year, Emily woke every night asking when Mommy was coming home.
I had spent hundreds of nights sitting beside her bed.
I had watched her learn to laugh again.
Rebecca had once told me she admired how close we were.
Now I understood that she had been studying it.
Measuring it.
Resenting it.
“You told me you loved her,” I said.
“I do.”
“No.”
My voice dropped.
“You love the version of my life where Emily isn’t in it.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.
A few months earlier those tears would have destroyed me.
Now I watched carefully.
“You don’t understand how difficult she has made this relationship.”
Emily went completely still.
I felt her hear every word.
“Stop talking.”
“Daniel—”
“Stop.”
Rebecca’s father came closer.
“This child has been allowed to control your home since Laura died.”
My mother gasped.
I looked at him.
“You should leave.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“You had something to do with this.”
His silence confirmed it.
Nathan took the Hawthorne pages from my hand.
“There’s more.”
He turned over another document.
It was a transportation authorization.
A private service was scheduled to arrive at my house Monday morning.
Two staff members would collect Emily.
The language was clinical.
Guardian advised not to interfere during transition.
My stomach twisted.
Emily read only a few words.
But one sentence caught her attention.
“Collect me?”
I took the page from Nathan.
“No one is collecting you.”
Rebecca sighed.
“This is exactly why I wanted to wait until after the wedding.”
I looked at her slowly.
“Why?”
“Because you’re emotional right now.”
“No.”
I stepped toward her.
“Why did the wedding have to happen first?”
Rebecca looked toward her father.
It was quick.
Almost instinctive.
But I saw it.
So did Nathan.
He pointed to the envelope.
“There’s another folder.”
I opened it.
This one came from my own company.
Carter Development Group.
On the front was a copy of the family trust agreement my father had created before he died.
A yellow tab marked one section.
Article Nine - Remarriage and Household Trustee Authority.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My father had established the trust to protect Emily’s inheritance.
If I remarried, my spouse could be appointed temporary household trustee for certain educational and residential expenses.
Not automatically.
Only with additional paperwork.
But attached behind the agreement was that paperwork.
Already prepared.
Already dated.
For Monday.
And someone had written my name beside the signature line in pencil.
Rebecca whispered my name.
I looked at her.
This had never been about helping Emily.
May you like
The wedding was part of a financial plan.
And someone inside my company had helped Rebecca build it.
