Chapter 10: The Letter Signed by a Dead Man
Jacob stood on my porch, holding the letter as though it might burn his fingers.
Amanda watched him carefully.
"Your father promised my father five hundred thousand dollars," she said.
"That's why Dad believed the trust was partly his. He wasn't trying to steal from you. He was trying to collect what he was owed.""
I stepped closer.
"Harold died eleven years ago. This letter is dated three days after his death.""
Amanda swallowed.
"I know how it looks.""
"No," I said.
"You know how it looks because you brought it here hoping we wouldn't examine it.""
Her eyes flashed.
"You're always determined to make me look like a liar.""
"I didn't choose the date on that letter, dear.""
Jacob raised his hand.
"Stop. Both of you.""
He looked down at the page again.
The signature resembled Harold's. The slant of the H, the long stroke beneath the final name, even the tiny ink blot near the date looked familiar.
But I had watched Harold sign hundreds of documents during our marriage.
Something was wrong.
"May I see it?"" I asked.
Jacob handed it to me.
I held the paper near the porch window, allowing the afternoon light to fall across it. The signature looked convincing at first glance, but Harold had always used a fountain pen. His handwriting had a distinctive pressure that left a faint impression on the paper.
This signature was flat and uniform.
"Where did you get this?"" I asked Amanda.
"My father's office.""
"Where exactly?""
"His desk drawer.""
"Was it inside an envelope?""
She hesitated.
"No.""
"Was there any accompanying correspondence?""
"I don't know.""
"Did you ask him where it came from?""
Amanda's expression hardened.
"I found it last night while looking for documents. I brought it here because I thought you deserved to know the truth.""
Jacob looked at her.
"Why didn't you give it to Elaine Porter?""
"Because she's working for the trust. She'll protect the trust, not us.""
"That's not what she told us.""
Amanda's voice rose.
"Jacob, your father left you money. My father says some of that money should have been his. Why is that so difficult to understand?""
"Because the letter is dated after Dad died!""
"Maybe the date is wrong!""
"Then why didn't you say that first?""
Amanda opened her mouth.
No answer came.
I carefully folded the paper along its existing crease.
"This needs to go to Martin and the trustee's attorney.""
Amanda reached for it.
"No. It's my family's property.""
I stepped back.
"You brought it to my house and presented it as evidence. We are not going to alter it or hide it. Elaine can arrange for it to be examined.""
Amanda looked at Jacob.
"Are you really going to let your mother take everything from us?""
Jacob's face tightened.
"Nobody is taking anything from you. We're trying to establish whether this document is genuine.""
"You don't trust me.""
"I trusted you yesterday. I trusted you when you told me your father had never met mine. I trusted you when you said you didn't know about the trust. I trusted you when you said the wedding paperwork was routine.""
He held up the letter.
"And now you're bringing me a document signed by a dead man, dated three days after his death, claiming he promised your father half a million dollars.""
Amanda began to cry.
"I didn't forge anything.""
"Then you should have no problem letting the experts examine it.""
She looked from Jacob to me.
For a moment, I thought she might finally tell us something honest.
Instead, she whispered, "My father will never forgive me for bringing this here.""
Then she turned and hurried down the steps.
Jacob watched her get into her car.
He didn't follow.
Inside, he placed the letter on my kitchen table. I called Martin, who immediately asked us not to handle it further than necessary. He arranged for a courier to collect it and deliver it to an independent document examiner.
By evening, Jacob was sitting in his childhood bedroom, staring at the old photographs on his bookshelf.
I knocked gently.
"May I come in?""
He nodded.
I sat beside him.
"Do you remember when Dad taught you to sign your name?""
Jacob managed a faint smile.
"He said a signature was a promise you made with ink.""
"He took that very seriously.""
"Then why would someone copy his?""
I looked at the photograph of Harold holding Jacob on his fifth birthday.
"Because they believe the promise will give them something they want.""
Jacob lowered his head.
"I keep thinking about how easily I believed Amanda. Every time you questioned something, I assumed you were trying to control me.""
"I know.""
"I told you to leave your own son's wedding.""
His voice cracked.
"I can't believe I did that.""
I touched his shoulder.
"You cannot change what happened. But you can decide what kind of man you will be when this is over.""
He nodded.
Then his phone rang.
The caller was Elaine.
Jacob answered on speaker.
"We've received the first results from the preliminary review," she said.
"The signature on the letter Amanda brought you appears inconsistent with verified examples of Harold Emerson's handwriting. The document examiner needs the original before making a final determination.""
I closed my eyes.
Jacob gripped the phone.
"So someone forged it?""
"We cannot make that conclusion yet. But the date and signature raise serious concerns.""
"What happens now?""
"The trustee will preserve all related records. Your attorney should also review the letter before you take any further action.""
Jacob thanked her and ended the call.
We sat quietly for several minutes.
Then he stood and walked to the window.
"Mom, I need to ask you something.""
"What is it?""
"Did Dad ever tell you he owed Richard money?""
I thought carefully.
"No. He told me there had been a business dispute, and that he believed he had recovered most of what was lost. He never said he promised Richard five hundred thousand dollars.""
Jacob nodded.
"Then I think I know where to look next.""
He took out his phone and opened the photograph of the letter.
"The date is three days after Dad died. Someone knew the exact day he passed away. Someone knew his signature. Someone knew about the trust.""
He looked at me.
"And someone knew that I might believe a letter from my father more readily than I would believe anyone else.""
Before I could answer, another message arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of an old bank transfer.
The amount was exactly $500,000.
The recipient was Richard Whitmore.
And the transaction date was three months before Harold died.
May you like
Beneath the image was a single sentence.
Ask your mother why Harold paid Richard half a million dollars before he died.
