Chapter 7: My Dead Father's Signature
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything.
I stared at the document Rebecca had taken from my hands.
My father's name appeared beneath a witness declaration dated six weeks earlier.
Thomas Mitchell.
My father had been dead for eleven years.
He'd died peacefully in a hospital in Louisville after a long battle with heart disease. I had held his hand when he took his final breath. I had chosen his burial clothes and stood beside his grave while the minister said his final prayer.
There was no possibility of confusion.
The man whose signature appeared on that document was dead.
"Rebecca," I whispered, "what does this mean?""
She examined the page.
"It means someone may have submitted a fraudulent witness statement. But we need to verify the document's origin before drawing conclusions.""
I shook my head.
"That's my father's signature.""
"Are you certain?""
"I have his handwriting on hundreds of birthday cards.""
Rebecca placed the document inside a folder.
"Then we're going to need those cards.""
My phone began vibrating.
Daniel.
I declined the call.
He called again.
Then a text appeared.
*Daniel:* Don't do anything stupid. We can resolve this privately.
I showed Rebecca.
She read it and shook her head.
"Do not respond emotionally. From now on, keep everything in writing.""
I nodded.
Then another message appeared.
*Daniel:* Mom says you have the auction papers. She wants to meet you tonight.
I typed one sentence.
*Sarah:* I will only communicate through my attorney.
His reply came immediately.
*Daniel:* You're destroying this family.
I placed the phone facedown.
For six years, I'd believed I was building a family.
Apparently, I had been financing a crime scene.
Rebecca began making calls to the lender and the county recorder's office. She wanted copies of every document associated with the property, including the original loan application, the alleged power of attorney, and the transfer request.
Before I left, she gave me one instruction.
"Sarah, don't return home alone. If your husband has access to your documents, he may try to remove or destroy evidence.""
I spent the afternoon at a friend's apartment.
At 4:38 p.m., Vanessa called.
"Sarah, I found something.""
"What?""
"Daniel left another envelope in his briefcase. I didn't open it at first, but after what happened last night, I couldn't ignore it.""
"What's inside?""
"An old photograph.""
I frowned.
"Of whom?""
"Your father.""
My stomach tightened.
"Send it to me.""
A moment later, the image arrived.
It showed my father standing beside a younger Patricia outside what looked like a bank.
I recognized the photograph immediately.
It had been taken at my father's house shortly before he died.
But there was something strange.
My father was holding a folder, and Patricia had one hand resting on his shoulder.
I zoomed in.
On the back, someone had written:
*Thomas Mitchell — Property Authorization Meeting.*
My hands went cold.
"Vanessa, why was this in Daniel's briefcase?""
"I don't know. But there's a date written beneath it.""
I enlarged the photograph.
The date was eleven years earlier.
Three months before my father's death.
I called Rebecca.
She listened carefully and asked Vanessa to forward the image.
Then she said something unexpected.
"Sarah, did your father own property besides the house you inherited?""
I sat up.
"Yes. A small commercial building in Louisville. He rented it to a family-owned pharmacy.""
"Did you inherit it?""
"I thought so. But I sold it two years after he died.""
"To whom?""
I remembered the paperwork.
A local investment company.
I couldn't remember the name.
Rebecca asked me to check my old records.
I searched my email archive and found the sale documents.
My heart began pounding.
The purchasing company was Brooks Capital Holdings.
Patricia's maiden name was Brooks.
I called Rebecca again.
"Could this be connected?""
There was a pause.
"It could be. I need to investigate the company's ownership.""
I opened the attachment containing the purchase agreement.
The signature page showed my name.
But the seller's authorization had been witnessed by Patricia.
And the document had been notarized only two weeks before my father's death.
I stared at the date.
My father had been hospitalized at that time.
He was barely conscious during his final days.
How could he have attended a property authorization meeting?
My phone buzzed again.
An unknown number.
*Unknown:* Sarah, you need to stop investigating Patricia.
I read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
*Unknown:* Your father didn't know what he was signing.
I immediately called the number.
It went to voicemail.
A man's voice answered.
"This is Michael Carter. Please leave a message.""
Mr. Carter.
The man from the hotel.
Before I could process it, another message appeared.
*Unknown:* If you want the truth about your father's property, meet me tomorrow at 10 a.m. alone.
I forwarded everything to Rebecca.
Her response was immediate.
*Rebecca:* Do not meet him alone. We will establish who he is and arrange any necessary contact safely.
I agreed.
But as I stared at the photograph of my father, one thought kept returning.
Patricia hadn't entered my life six years ago simply because Daniel married me.
She had known my father long before that.
May you like
And whatever had happened eleven years earlier, it appeared my husband had inherited more than his mother's business connections.
He had inherited her secrets.
