Chapter 5: My Name In Someone Else’s Handwriting
Rebecca followed me into the house.
I barely noticed the view.
Usually, entering the estate gave me an odd feeling of peace.
My grandfather had designed the living room around enormous windows overlooking the hills. In the evenings, Los Angeles shimmered beneath them like another sky.
That morning, I saw none of it.
I saw only my name.
Written by somebody else.
Rebecca placed the document on the kitchen island.
“Look carefully.””
I did.
The fake signature wasn't terrible.
That frightened me more.
Whoever had written it had practiced.
The loops were similar.
The slant was close.
But my final “t” always curved backward.
This one didn't.
“Who submitted it?””
“The refinancing package came through your father’s financial adviser.””
“Does that mean Dad forged it?””
“Not necessarily.””
Rebecca remained careful.
“We know the document was submitted. We don't yet know who created the signature.””
I stared at it.
Vanessa’s voice replayed in my head.
You walked into wealth because people died.
“Can the refinancing happen?””
“Not now.””
Rebecca tapped the folder.
“The lender froze the application when ownership verification failed.””
Relief came first.
Then anger.
“What happens next?””
“That depends on what you want.””
I looked around my estate.
For years, I had avoided using my inheritance as a weapon.
My grandfather taught me to protect it, not flaunt it.
That was why I kept working.
Why I drove my six-year-old sedan.
Why I never told Vanessa the value of my trust.
I wanted a life I had built myself.
They interpreted modesty as helplessness.
My phone rang.
Dad.
I stared at his name.
Rebecca watched me.
“You don't have to answer.””
“I do.””
I put him on speaker.
“Charlotte?””
His voice sounded strained.
“What happened?””
“Vanessa left.””
I frowned.
“What?””
“She took Madison and drove away.””
“Where?””
“I don't know.””
Rebecca and I exchanged a look.
My father continued.
“She was furious after you left. She said she needed time to think.””
“Dad, did you sign my name on the refinancing documents?””
Silence.
“Dad?””
“No.””
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
“I never signed your name.””
“Did you know someone had?””
Another silence.
This one lasted longer.
“Michael,” Rebecca said, “this is Rebecca Cole.””
He inhaled sharply.
“You’re with Charlotte?””
“Yes.””
“Then you need to tell her this isn't what it looks like.””
Rebecca remained calm.
“What does it look like?””
My father didn't answer.
I leaned against the counter.
“Dad, did you see the paperwork before it was submitted?””
“Yes.””
“Was my signature already there?””
“I…”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Dad.””
“Yes.””
The word landed like a stone.
“You saw my signature.””
“Yes.””
“And you knew I hadn't signed anything.””
“I assumed Vanessa had spoken to you.””
I actually laughed.
It wasn't funny.
It was disbelief escaping my body.
“You assumed?””
“She told me everything was handled.””
“Did you ask me?””
“No.””
“Did you call?””
“No.””
“Text me?””
“Charlotte—”
“Did you do anything?””
His voice broke.
“No.””
Rebecca looked away, giving me privacy even though there was none left.
My father whispered, “I made a terrible mistake.””
I closed my eyes.
“Who prepared the paperwork?””
“Vanessa brought it to me.””
There it was.
Not proof.
But a direction.
“Where did she get it?””
“Her brother.””
Rebecca immediately wrote something down.
“What’s his full name?”” she asked.
“Derek Lawson.””
I remembered him.
Vanessa’s younger brother.
Expensive watches.
Constant business schemes.
Always calling himself an entrepreneur.
The last time I saw Derek, he had asked me whether my grandfather's estate had “finally paid out.””
At the time, I thought he was making conversation.
Now my skin crawled.
Rebecca asked, “What company?””
“Lawson Urban Development.””
She wrote that down too.
I heard a noise through the phone.
“Dad?””
“Someone's here.””
“Who?””
He didn't answer immediately.
Then I heard the front door open.
A muffled voice.
Female.
Vanessa.
My father whispered, “She came back.””
Rebecca motioned for silence.
Vanessa's voice became clearer.
“Michael?””
My father must have lowered the phone.
“Where is Charlotte?””
“Gone.””
“Where?””
“I don't know.””
“You're lying.””
Rebecca looked at me.
Vanessa continued.
“We need to fix this before she starts asking questions.””
My heartbeat changed.
Dad said, “She already is.””
Silence.
Then Vanessa asked:
“Who are you talking to?””
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Rebecca immediately gathered the documents.
“Do not go back there alone.””
“I wasn't planning to.””
“Good.””
My phone buzzed.
A message from Madison.
For one second, I considered ignoring it.
Then I opened it.
It contained a photograph.
Vanessa was standing in my old bedroom beside Derek.
Documents were spread across my old desk.
Madison had added one sentence:
I think Mom lied to both of us.
Another message arrived.
There’s a locked metal box under your old floorboard.
I stared at the words.
My mother’s bedroom renovations flashed through my memory.
When I was twelve, Dad replaced part of my floor.
Except one section.
Mom had once hidden letters beneath that board when I was little.
I looked at Rebecca.
“What if the refinancing isn't what Vanessa is afraid of?””
Rebecca's expression tightened.
“Then we need to find out what's in that box.””
Before I could answer, Madison sent one final message.
May you like
This one made my blood run cold.
Derek just told Mom they have to get the box before Charlotte finds out who actually owns the rest.
