Chapter 7: The Dead Man’s Signature
I read Daniel’s message three times.
The withdrawal signatures were copied.
The signature used was your grandfather’s.
For a moment, I couldn’t move.
My grandfather had been dead for six years.
Yet someone had used his name to move money out of my account.
My account.
My future.
My grandfather’s promise.
“Ethan?””
Mom’s voice pulled me back.
I looked up.
She was watching my face.
“What did he say?””
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because I wasn’t sure what scared me more.
The fact that someone had forged Grandpa’s signature.
Or the possibility that my mother had known.
“Daniel found something.””
Her expression changed.
“What?””
I held up my phone.
“He said the withdrawal signatures were copied.””
Mom went completely still.
Then she whispered:
“What signature?””
I stared at her.
“You tell me.””
Her eyes widened.
“Ethan…”
“Someone used Grandpa’s signature.””
She sat down slowly.
“I didn’t know.””
I studied her face.
For the first time, I wasn’t looking for guilt.
I was looking for the truth.
And all I saw was shock.
A few minutes later, Daniel arrived.
He walked into the kitchen carrying a folder and immediately noticed the tension.
“What happened?””
I looked at him.
“You said the signature was Grandpa’s.””
Daniel nodded.
“Yes.””
“How?””
He placed the folder on the table.
“We compared the withdrawal documents with your grandfather’s verified signatures.””
“And?””
“The signature style was copied.””
Mom covered her mouth.
“Richard…”
Her voice was barely audible.
Daniel looked at her.
“You suspect your husband?””
She looked away.
That answer was enough.
I felt anger rise in my chest.
“You knew something was wrong.””
Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
“I knew he was hiding things.””
“But you stayed.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
She looked at me.
“Because I thought I could fix everything.””
I shook my head.
“You keep saying that.””
“Because it’s true.””
“No, Mom.””
My voice cracked.
“You kept trying to fix problems that weren’t yours.””
The words hurt her.
But they were true.
Daniel opened the folder.
“There’s another issue.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“The trust documents contain a record of everyone authorized to access the account.””
My stomach tightened.
“And?””
He turned the paper toward me.
“There were only two authorized people.””
I already knew one.
“Mom.””
He nodded.
“And your grandfather’s attorney.””
I frowned.
“Not Richard?””
“No.””
The room went silent.
That meant Richard couldn’t legally access the money.
Not alone.
“Then how did he get it?””
Daniel looked at Mom.
“Did your mother ever share account information with him?””
Mom looked down.
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
She closed her eyes.
“I gave him access to some household documents when we were trying to organize finances.””
My hands tightened.
“So he used your access.””
She didn’t answer.
Daniel continued.
“Possibly.””
I stood up.
“Possibly?””
He looked at me.
“We need evidence.””
“I have evidence.””
I pointed at the documents.
“My money disappeared.””
“Yes.””
“Someone forged signatures.””
“Yes.””
“Richard benefited.””
“Yes.””
I stared at him.
“Then what else do you need?””
Daniel’s expression softened.
“I need to prove exactly how he did it.””
Because proving someone was responsible was different from knowing they were.
And I hated that.
I wanted the answer to be simple.
I wanted someone to admit what they did.
But life didn’t work that way.
Not in families.
Not with money.
Not with people you loved.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then Daniel looked at the screen.
“Answer it.””
“Why?””
“Because it may matter.””
I picked up.
“Hello?””
A woman’s voice answered.
“Is this Ethan Carter?””
“Yes.””
“My name is Karen Mills. I work at First Heritage Bank.””
My stomach tightened.
“Why are you calling me?””
There was hesitation.
Then she said:
“Because six months ago, I questioned a transaction involving your trust account.””
I gripped the phone.
“What transaction?””
“The largest withdrawal.””
My heart started pounding.
“What about it?””
Her voice lowered.
“I told your mother something wasn’t right.””
I looked at Mom.
She looked terrified.
“What did she say?””
The woman paused.
“She told me she had permission.””
“From who?””
Another silence.
Then:
“She said…”
The call suddenly cut out.
I stared at the phone.
“Hello?””
Nothing.
Daniel immediately stood.
“Call her back.””
I did.
Straight to voicemail.
Then a notification appeared.
A new text message.
From the same number.
May you like
One sentence.
Do not trust your mother.
