Chapter 18 - The Signature Beneath the Signature
Evan's lawyer followed the debt through three companies with names that sounded like office buildings. Northline Holdings had borrowed against the cottages, sold the loan to an affiliate, then moved the proceeds into an account controlled by Bernard Kessler.
"They're trying to make the money impossible to trace," Evan said.
"Can we get it back?"
"We can ask the court to preserve it while the fraud case is decided. But I need an original signature specimen."
Dad drove us to the small farmhouse where he'd lived since Blackthorn burned. He unlocked Mom's desk and removed a biscuit tin filled with letters. I recognized my handwriting on birthday cards, thank-you notes, and the lease renewals I'd signed for our tenants.
I touched the faded paper. It felt like opening a door into a life someone had stolen, one ordinary day at a time.
The handwriting examiner compared the originals with the documents Northline had filed. On several contracts, my signature had been copied from the same thank-you card, right down to a tiny ink blot after the last letter.
Marcus obtained an order preserving the transfer records. The bank froze the remaining funds. Northline's chief financial officer agreed to speak after learning the collateral might have been acquired through forgery.
Then the examiner pointed to a second page. "There's another signature problem here," she said. "This one isn't Caroline's."
It was Dad's name on a personal guarantee for nine hundred thousand dollars. The writing looked genuine.
"Dad?" I said.
He sat down heavily. "I signed it."
"Why would you borrow against Mom's house?"
He closed his eyes. "Six months after your funeral, a letter came. It said you were alive. It said I could bring you home if I paid."
May you like
My heart began to pound. "You knew there was a chance?"
"I hoped," he whispered. "And I was too ashamed to tell anyone after the money vanished."
