Chapter 6 - A Forged Promise
"That's my name," Nate said, "but I never witnessed this."
Owen enlarged the signature. The last letter curved in a way Nate hadn't written since high school. His mother used to tease him about it. She had kept one of his old report cards in a desk at the original Whitcomb Hotel.
"Someone copied an old version," he said.
"Or somebody with access to the family archive did," Owen replied.
Rachel pressed both palms against the desk. "Graham is treasurer of the foundation. He was allowed to review invoices, not sell homes out from under people."
Nate followed Owen to the empty bridal suite. Sloane's silk robe lay across a chair. Her lipstick stained a champagne glass.
The blue folder was gone. Her suitcase was gone. Her engagement ring sat on the vanity beside a note.
YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST SAID I DO.
"She planned an exit," Nate said.
"Maybe. Or she wants you to think she did."
A housekeeper, Marta Ruiz, appeared in the doorway holding fresh towels. She looked at the abandoned wedding dress bag and hesitated.
"Mr. Whitcomb? I saw something last night. I didn't know it mattered."
Marta had worked for the family for nineteen years. Nate's mother trusted her with birthday cakes, secrets, and the key to the old records cabinet.
"Miss Avery asked where your mother's keepsakes were stored," Marta said. "She said she wanted to surprise you. I told her about the archive room."
"Did she go there?"
"With Mr. Pike. They carried out a box. I thought they were making a memorial display."
Owen exchanged a look with Nate. Nate's mother had been dead eleven months. Her letters and signatures were private family property.
Marta reached into her apron. "I picked this up after they left."
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It was a torn strip from a photocopy. At the bottom, in Nate's mother's handwriting, were the words: Give them a safe place to come home.
On the back someone had written a single number: 17.
