Chapter 13: The Signature Beside My Mother’s Bed
I stared at the hospital document until the letters blurred.
Rebecca Harrison.
Her name sat beneath the physician’s signature, beside a handwritten note confirming that my mother’s medication had been reviewed and administered according to the attending doctor’s instructions.
The date was the night Elizabeth Miller died.
My father stood beside me, his face drained of color.
“Where did Madison get this?”” he whispered.
“I don't know.””
I called Madison immediately.
She answered on the first ring.
“Emily, please don't hang up.””
“Why is Rebecca's name on my mother's medical record?””
“I found the document in Mom's office. It was inside a folder marked Elizabeth—Final Treatment. I wasn't supposed to see it.””
“Did Vanessa explain why she had it?””
Madison hesitated.
“She said Rebecca was there because she wanted to make sure your mother didn't change her will.””
My stomach tightened.
“That doesn't make sense. Rebecca told me she came because Mom asked her to take me somewhere safe.””
“Maybe both things are true.””
I looked toward Detective Harris, who was listening carefully.
“Madison, did your mother say anything else?””
Her voice dropped.
“She said Robert had already arranged everything. She said all they needed was one more signature, and then nobody could take the collection away from them.””
I gripped the phone.
“Whose signature?””
“I don't know. But there's something else. Mom keeps a small black notebook in her bedroom safe. I saw her writing in it after you left the competition.””
“Can you get it?””
“I can try.””
“No. Don't risk it. Tell Detective Harris what you've found.””
Madison began crying.
“Emily, I know you hate me.””
“I don't have time to hate you right now. I need the truth.””
“I helped her steal your dress. I knew it was yours because I saw your sketches. I told myself that if I won the scholarship, I could finally become someone without living in Mom's shadow.””
Her confession hurt, but it didn't surprise me.
“And now?””
“Now I understand that she wasn't helping me become a designer. She was teaching me how to take what belonged to someone else.””
For the first time, I heard something in Madison's voice that sounded like genuine shame.
“Tell the detective everything,” I said.
“If you're telling the truth, start by giving him evidence.””
I ended the call and turned to Detective Harris.
“We need to speak to Rebecca before meeting Robert.””
He nodded.
“Agreed. I'll arrange an interview at the station.””
But Rebecca arrived at the studio before the detective could contact her.
She stepped through the doorway carrying a folder, her expression unusually tense.
“Emily, I received your message.””
“I didn't send you one.””
Rebecca stopped.
Then her eyes moved to the hospital document in my hand.
“Oh.””
That single word told me she recognized it.
“You were there the night my mother died,” I said.
“You told me you went because she asked you to take me somewhere safe. Why is your signature on her medical record?””
Rebecca placed her folder on the cutting table.
“Because I witnessed a conversation between Elizabeth and her physician. Your mother was frightened that her treatment records had been altered. She asked me to help document her concerns.””
“Did you see anyone change her medication?””
“No.””
“Did you see Vanessa?””
“Yes.””
“Robert?””
Rebecca's silence lasted too long.
“Rebecca.””
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Robert was there.””
My father took a step forward.
“You told me you left before he arrived.””
“I said I didn't see what happened after I left the hospital room.””
“You let me believe he wasn't there.””
“I was trying to protect Emily.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone has been protecting me by keeping me ignorant.””
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
“Elizabeth asked me to take you away from the hospital because she believed Robert intended to pressure Daniel into signing another agreement. She feared that if your father gave in, you would lose your inheritance.””
“Then why didn't you take me?””
“Daniel arrived first. He said he would bring you home and keep you safe. I believed him.””
My father looked at the floor.
Rebecca continued.
“Before I left, Elizabeth asked me to sign the statement confirming that she had raised concerns about her medication. I did. I also asked the physician to preserve her records.””
“Did you know the records had been altered?””
“No. But I noticed something strange.””
She opened her folder and removed a photocopy of a medication administration chart.
“Your mother's regular prescription was recorded at a different dosage from the one documented in the final nursing notes. The physician said it was a clerical discrepancy and that the medication had been reviewed.””
“Did you investigate?””
“I tried. The hospital's internal review found no conclusive evidence of wrongdoing. I was told the difference could have resulted from a routine adjustment.””
“And you accepted that?””
Rebecca lowered her head.
“I wanted to believe it. I was afraid of making an accusation I couldn't prove.””
Detective Harris took the photocopy.
“We'll submit this to the medical examiner and request the original records. A discrepancy isn't proof of tampering, but it warrants examination.””
Rebecca nodded.
Then she turned to me.
“There is something else I should have told you.””
She reached into her folder and removed a small photograph.
It showed my mother sitting in the hospital bed, pale but awake, holding a folded sheet of paper.
On the back, Elizabeth had written:
If Robert gets the second agreement signed, the collection will be his. If Vanessa helps him, she will have to answer for what she knows.
I stared at the photograph.
“What was the second agreement?””
“I never saw the complete document,” Rebecca said.
“But Elizabeth told me it was not a legitimate transfer. She believed it had been created to make it appear that she had surrendered her rights before her death.””
My father closed his eyes.
“And you didn't tell the police?””
“I gave them my statement about the medication concern. I didn't know about the alleged agreement until much later.””
Detective Harris studied the photograph.
“Where did you get this?””
“Elizabeth gave it to me before I left. She said it was proof that she had been alive and conscious when she challenged the contract.””
A chill passed through me.
“Why would that matter?””
Rebecca looked directly at me.
“Because Robert later claimed Elizabeth had approved the transfer verbally during her final hours. He said she had been too weak to sign the paperwork herself.””
The room fell silent.
If my mother had been conscious enough to challenge the agreement, Robert's story became much harder to believe.
But there was still a question nobody could answer.
Who had signed the document?
My phone vibrated.
A message from Detective Harris's colleague appeared on his screen. He read it, then looked up.
“Robert Walker has arrived at the station.””
“Is he willing to talk?”” I asked.
“He's willing to talk to Emily.””
My father immediately shook his head.
“You're not going.””
“I have to.””
“No, you don't.””
I turned toward him.
“Mom left me the truth, Dad. Everyone else decided I couldn't handle it. I'm done letting other people decide what I deserve to know.””
Detective Harris stepped between us.
“Emily can participate in a supervised interview. No private meeting, no promises, and no contact outside the station.””
I nodded.
As we prepared to leave, Rebecca caught my arm.
“One more thing,” she whispered.
“When Elizabeth asked me to take you somewhere safe, she said something I have never forgotten.””
“What?””
Rebecca swallowed.
“She said, ‘If anything happens to me, don't assume the person who benefits is the person who caused it.’”
I looked at her.
“Are you saying Vanessa didn't do it?””
“I'm saying we must prove what happened before we decide who is responsible.””
For once, someone wasn't offering me a convenient answer.
At the station, Robert sat behind a glass partition in a gray suit, his hands folded neatly on the table.
He looked nothing like a man who had stolen a dead woman's work or threatened her family.
He looked like a businessman waiting for a meeting to begin.
When he saw me, he smiled.
“Emily,” he said through the intercom.
“You look so much like your mother.””
I sat opposite him.
“Don't use her name to make me trust you.””
His smile faded.
“Then let's talk about the contract.””
He slid a document toward the glass.
“This is the agreement your father signed.””
I looked at the signature.
Daniel Miller.
Then I saw the second signature.
Vanessa Walker.
And beneath it, a third name, written in my mother's handwriting.
Elizabeth Miller.
Robert leaned closer to the microphone.
“Your mother signed it before she died.””
I stared at the signature, my pulse pounding.
It looked real.
May you like
Robert's smile returned.
“So now, Emily, you must decide whether you believe your father—or your mother's own hand.””
