Chapter 8 - The Forged Signature
Leah brought in a document examiner named Paul Mercer, a quiet man with ink stains on his fingers and a habit of asking questions nobody expected.
He examined the image Marcus had produced, the proposal email, and several signatures I knew were genuine.
“I can see repeated features,” he said.
“But I need better originals before I give a firm opinion.”
That was the first sensible thing anybody had told me all week.
I didn't need someone who would promise a miracle.
I needed someone who would tell the truth, even when it was inconvenient.
The disputed deed carried the seal of a notary named Helen Price.
Leah contacted her.
Helen said she had never met me.
Worse, the commission number on the document didn't match hers.
“So the seal is fake?” I asked.
“Or copied,” Leah replied.
“Either way, we're treating this as suspected fraud and preserving the evidence.”
Officer Reyes interviewed me again.
This time she didn't ask only about the plate.
She asked who had access to old tax returns, canceled checks, and insurance files bearing my signature.
“Tyler,” I said quietly.
“He helped organize the filing cabinet after Harold died.”
I hated how much it hurt to say his name.
That evening Tyler called.
I put him on speaker with Nora beside me.
“I gave Marcus scanned copies of some papers,” he admitted.
“He said a lender wanted proof that Grandma owned the place.”
“Why would his lender need my paperwork?” I asked.
“I thought he was asking about a family loan.”
“Without asking me?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“No, you know how it is.”
For a long time neither of us spoke.
Then he said something I had never heard from him before.
“Marcus told me if I didn't cooperate, Marissa would leave me.”
I wanted to tell him a marriage shouldn't survive by sacrificing somebody else.
Before I could, his phone picked up another voice.
Marissa's.
May you like
“Tyler, hang up,” she hissed.
“She doesn't need to know about the second account.”
