Chapter 2: The Signature That Wasn't Mine
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The broken glass glittered beneath the kitchen lights. Somewhere in the dining room, a guest quietly switched off the music.
I took the inventory report from Michael.
My name appeared at the bottom.
Corinthia Bellmont.
The signature was convincing. Even the little curve beneath the final letter looked like mine.
But I knew I hadn't signed it.
"Michael, who prepared this?""
He adjusted his glasses.
"The estate's accounting department received it from an authorized representative three months ago. It was accompanied by a bill of sale and a bank transfer confirmation.""
"Who was the representative?""
Michael hesitated.
Then he looked directly at my daughter-in-law.
"Harlow Bellmont.""
Nathan turned.
"Harlow?""
She immediately stepped forward.
"Don't look at me like that. I was helping your mother.""
"Helping me do what?"" I asked.
"Organizing the estate! You were overwhelmed after Edward died. You couldn't even remember where you put the insurance papers.""
"That doesn't explain my signature.""
Harlow rolled her eyes.
"Oh, Corinthia. You probably signed something and forgot.""
I shook my head.
"I remember every document I sign.""
Michael placed another sheet on the counter.
"This is the transfer confirmation.""
He pointed to the receiving account.
The account holder was Harlow Bellmont.
The amount was $94,000.
Nathan looked as if someone had punched him.
"You received the money?""
Harlow's voice sharpened.
"It was for expenses!""
"What expenses?"" Nathan demanded.
"House expenses. Family expenses. Things you wouldn't understand.""
"Then why is it in your private account?""
She slammed her champagne glass onto the counter.
"Because I was the one handling everything while your mother sat around crying!""
I watched her carefully.
She wasn't embarrassed.
She was angry that someone had discovered her.
Michael turned another page.
"There's a second problem.""
He removed a document bearing the name of Edward's family property.
My late husband's vineyard estate.
Edward had inherited the property from his grandfather. It was a beautiful twelve-acre parcel in Sonoma County, California, with an old farmhouse, a small vineyard, and a stone cellar.
He had spent twenty years restoring it.
After his death, I had continued paying the taxes and maintenance expenses.
I had even planned to spend more time there after the holidays.
Michael tapped the document.
"According to county records, the property was transferred into a company called HB Heritage Holdings LLC.""
I frowned.
"I've never heard of that company.""
Michael looked at me.
"Do you recognize this signature?""
My eyes moved to the bottom of the page.
There it was again.
My name.
My signature.
A transfer dated six weeks earlier.
Nathan stepped closer.
"Wait. That's the vineyard.""
"Yes," Michael replied.
"But Mom owns that property.""
"I thought so too.""
Harlow suddenly laughed.
It was a sharp, nervous sound.
"You're making a huge deal out of paperwork. The vineyard was costing thousands every month. I found someone willing to manage it.""
I turned toward her.
"You transferred my property without asking me?""
"I was protecting the family investment.""
"Into a company you own?""
Her lips pressed together.
Nathan looked at his wife.
"Tell me she's wrong.""
Harlow grabbed his arm.
"Nathan, don't start.""
"Tell me!""
She pulled away.
"Your mother was never going to use that property. Someone had to make practical decisions.""
Michael closed the folder.
"That isn't how ownership works, Mrs. Bellmont.""
Harlow glared at him.
"You're just the family lawyer. You don't know everything that happened.""
"Then perhaps you can explain the notarized authorization attached to this deed.""
Michael removed a final page.
I leaned closer.
The document claimed I had personally appeared before a notary in San Francisco six weeks earlier.
But six weeks earlier, I had been recovering from a severe bout of influenza at my home in Sacramento.
I hadn't left the house for nine days.
"I wasn't there," I whispered.
Michael nodded.
"I suspected that.""
Harlow crossed her arms.
"Maybe you forgot.""
I turned toward her.
"Enough.""
For the first time that evening, my voice was louder than hers.
"You destroyed thirteen bottles of wine worth ninety-four thousand dollars. You transferred my husband's vineyard. And you forged my signature.""
"Don't accuse me of forgery!"" she snapped.
"Then explain the documents.""
She looked at Nathan.
"Are you really going to let your mother talk to me like this?""
Nathan didn't respond.
Michael quietly took out his phone.
"I'll need to contact the county recorder's office first thing in the morning. We also need to preserve the original security footage.""
Harlow's face tightened.
"What security footage?""
"The kitchen cameras," Michael replied.
"They captured the destruction of the bottles.""
She looked toward the ceiling.
Then she did something unexpected.
She walked straight to the security panel beside the pantry and pulled the power cable from the wall.
The monitor went black.
"There," she said.
"No more cameras.""
Michael stared at her.
"Mrs. Bellmont, the footage is stored remotely.""
Her expression changed.
I watched her fingers tighten around the champagne glass.
Then Nathan's phone rang.
He glanced at the number and answered.
"Hello?""
A man's voice came through loudly enough for all of us to hear.
"Mr. Bellmont? This is Daniel from West Coast Wine Exchange. We need to discuss the $94,000 transaction associated with your household.""
Nathan swallowed.
"What's wrong with it?""
"We have a serious problem. The buyer has requested a refund because the wine delivered to him was not the wine listed on the sale certificate.""
Nathan looked at me.
Then at Harlow.
"Delivered?"" he repeated.
The caller continued.
"Yes, sir. But there's another issue. The delivery receipt contains your wife's signature.""
Nathan's face drained of color.
"That can't be right.""
"Mr. Bellmont, there's one more thing. Your wife told us the original collection had been temporarily stored in a private cellar.""
Harlow snatched the phone from his hand.
"Stop talking!""
The call disconnected.
Michael slowly looked at her.
"Where is the original wine collection, Mrs. Bellmont?""
Harlow said nothing.
But I noticed something.
When Michael mentioned the private cellar, her eyes had flicked toward the hallway leading to Edward's study.
And suddenly, I remembered something my husband had told me just before he died.
May you like
Something about a locked room.
Something he had insisted nobody should ever enter without his permission.
