Chapter 15 - What a Signature CostsDad read the affidavit three times before speaking. "I never saw this."
The document claimed he'd sworn before a notary in August. At the bottom was his familiar signature, lifted from a plumbing invoice and pasted onto the new page. Naomi compared the alignment against an original invoice Dad supplied. The identical ink fleck beneath the last letter was a clue, not yet a conclusion.
"I'll testify," he said. "And if the judge asks why I gave Vanessa my passwords, I'll answer."
Before the hearing, Travis Mercer asked to meet us at his lawyer's office. Naomi insisted on attending. He wore an expensive coat and talked as though people were parts of a building he planned to clear.
"I understand your sentimental attachment," he told me. "But the workshop is failing. We can offer a private settlement."
He slid a figure across the table: fifty thousand dollars if I waived my claim, provided Grandma withdrew her challenge too.
"You'd still get to keep the bungalow," he added. "An elegant solution."
"It's already hers," I said.
"Ownership becomes expensive when lawyers get involved."
Naomi closed the offer without touching it. "Please communicate through counsel from now on."
Outside, Dad asked me whether I'd thought about accepting. I stared at him until he raised his hands.
"I'm not suggesting it," he said. "I'm asking because I want to understand what you need."
"I need one thing that Mom built to stay ours. Not because it might be worth money. Because children still come there to make things that belong to them."
He nodded.
At home, I found Grandma holding a cardboard box from the workshop. On top lay an old photograph of Mom beside a woman I didn't recognize.
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"This is Celia," Grandma said. "She built the trust with Leah. And she's been missing for eight years."
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