Chapter 4: The Signature of a Dead Man
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The attorney's voice continued through my father's phone, crisp and professional against the silence in our hallway.
“Mr. Carter, are you still there?””
Dad swallowed.
“Yes. I'm here.””
“The document appears to have been submitted to the county recorder's office three months ago. It purports to transfer control of the trust to a third party. However, the notary's commission number belongs to a man who died two years earlier.””
Linda pressed her hand against her chest.
“That can't be right.””
I turned toward her.
“How would you know?””
“Because this is a mistake!””
Mark snatched the phone from Dad's hand.
“Counselor, I'm Mark Bennett. I believe there's been a misunderstanding involving an outdated document. We can arrange a meeting to resolve this.””
“Mr. Bennett,” the attorney replied, “I strongly recommend that you refrain from making further representations about this property until the discrepancy has been investigated.””
Mark's jaw tightened.
“Are you accusing me of something?””
“I'm advising you to obtain independent legal counsel.””
Mark ended the call.
For a moment, I thought Dad might grab the phone back and demand an explanation. Instead, he stood in the hallway staring at his brother-in-law as though he were seeing him for the first time.
“Mark,” Dad said, “tell me that document is legitimate.””
Mark adjusted the cuff of his expensive shirt.
“Robert, you know how these things work. The office makes mistakes. A clerk enters the wrong number, a signature gets attached to the wrong file. It happens every day.””
“A dead notary signed it.””
“The notary could have approved it before his death.””
“The attorney just said the filing was submitted three months ago.””
Mark's face reddened.
“Then the attorney should investigate the filing instead of frightening everyone over a clerical issue.””
I pulled my mother's letter from my pocket.
“Why did my mother specifically tell me not to trust you with the original trust documents?””
Mark's gaze snapped toward me.
Linda moved closer.
“Give me that letter, Emily.””
I stepped backward.
“No.””
“You have no idea what you're reading.””
“Then explain it.””
She reached for my pocket, but Dad caught her wrist.
“Don't touch her.””
Linda stared at him.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
Something shifted in my father's voice. It wasn't confidence, exactly. It sounded more like the last desperate effort of a man who had finally realized how much he stood to lose.
Linda pulled her hand away.
“You're choosing her over me?””
“I'm trying to understand what happened.””
“Oh, don't pretend you suddenly care about the truth. You signed the papers, Robert. You took the money. You agreed to everything.””
Dad's face went gray.
“What money?””
Mark stepped between them.
“That's enough.””
“No,” I said.
“It isn't.””
I took out the trust document and held it beside the photograph of the suspicious transfer.
“Who was the third party?””
Mark stared at the paper.
Then he smiled.
It was the same polished smile he used whenever he wanted someone to stop asking questions.
“You'll understand when you're older.””
“I'm old enough to recognize a forged document.””
“You don't know that it was forged.””
“And you don't know that it wasn't.””
His smile vanished.
Jessica came down the stairs carrying a cardboard box. My mother's pearl necklace still hung around her wrist.
“Can somebody please explain what's happening?”” she demanded.
“The movers are outside.””
I looked at the box.
“Put it down.””
She rolled her eyes.
“Seriously?””
“Put it down, Jessica.””
She dropped it onto the floor.
A ceramic vase shattered inside.
It was my mother's favorite vase, a blue-and-white piece she'd brought home from an antique shop in Franklin. She used it every spring for the daffodils growing beside our front porch.
I stared at the broken pieces spilling through the torn cardboard.
Jessica shrugged.
“It was just a vase.””
I looked at her.
“No. It was something my mother loved.””
“Then maybe you should have packed it better.””
Dad bent down and began gathering the pieces.
I had never seen him look so defeated.
“Leave it,” I whispered.
He stopped.
“You don't have to clean up every mess they make.””
His hands trembled as he rose.
For a moment, our eyes met. I saw the father who used to carry me on his shoulders at the county fair, the man who had slept in a hospital chair beside my mother, the person I had trusted more than anyone.
Then he looked at Mark.
“Who is the third party?””
Mark closed his briefcase.
“I'm leaving.””
“You're not leaving until you answer me.””
“Watch yourself, Robert. You have more to lose than I do.””
He walked toward the front door.
Dad followed him.
“Mark!””
Mark stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
“Tomorrow's closing is still scheduled,” he said.
“If you interfere with it, the consequences will be your responsibility.””
He opened the door and stepped outside.
Linda hurried after him.
Jessica stood motionless on the stairs, suddenly less interested in her new bedroom.
I watched the door swing shut.
Then my father turned to me.
“Emily, I need to tell you something.””
I folded my mother's letter carefully.
“What?””
He looked toward the dining room, where the keys still lay on the table.
“The money Mark mentioned wasn't all used for the renovation.””
I waited.
Dad's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Linda used part of it to pay off a debt connected to Jessica.””
From the staircase, Jessica gasped.
“Mom!””
Linda spun around.
“Robert, shut your mouth!””
But Dad didn't stop.
“Because if I hadn't signed those papers, Mark said he would expose something Jessica did two years ago.””
Jessica's face drained of color.
I looked at her.
“What did you do?””
She shook her head rapidly.
“Nothing.””
Linda rushed toward her daughter.
“Go upstairs.””
“No,” I said.
“Not this time.””
Jessica looked at me with wide, frightened eyes.
May you like
Then she whispered five words that made my father grip the banister.
“Mom said you took the blame.””
