Chapter 7: The Signature That Wasn't Mine
For eleven years, I had believed my father died trying to protect our family.
Now I was staring at a document suggesting someone had forged my signature to steal hundreds of thousands of dollars.
And the man standing in front of me was smiling.
Thomas Bell placed his briefcase on the coffee table and loosened his tie.
“Sit down, Emily. This is going to take a while.””
Richard stepped between us.
“She doesn't need to hear anything from you.””
Thomas glanced at him.
“Still pretending to be the hero, Richard? That's getting old.””
“Get out of this house.””
Thomas chuckled.
“Your house? You should be careful with that word.””
My mother stood near the kitchen doorway, twisting a tissue between her fingers.
“Thomas, you said you weren't going to come here.””
“I changed my mind.””
“You promised.””
He looked at her impatiently.
“Linda, please. We have bigger problems.””
I picked up the document.
At the top was a business account application dated eleven years earlier.
My name appeared in the applicant section.
The signature looked almost identical to mine.
Almost.
But I knew I hadn't signed it.
I had been twenty-three when that document was supposedly completed. I was working two jobs and barely had time to sleep.
I certainly hadn't opened a business account with a construction investment company.
“Who signed this?”” I asked.
Thomas pulled out a chair.
“According to the bank, you did.””
“I didn't.””
“That's what everyone says when their signatures become inconvenient.””
I looked at him.
“Are you accusing me of fraud?””
“I'm explaining that your name appears on financial documents connected to the missing money.””
Richard slammed his hand against the table.
“Those documents were forged.””
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
“Can you prove that?””
Richard didn't answer.
Thomas turned toward me.
“Your father believed he could protect you by putting everything into a trust. But he overlooked one important detail. The accounts had already been established.””
I examined the paperwork.
There were three separate account applications.
All carried my name.
All had signatures that resembled mine.
And all were connected to the same company.
Hale Construction Investments.
“Why was my name used?””
Thomas shrugged.
“Ask your mother.””
I turned toward Linda.
She looked down.
“Mom?””
She swallowed.
“I was trying to help your father.””
“By opening accounts in my name?””
“It wasn't like that.””
“Then what was it like?””
Thomas interrupted.
“Linda didn't understand the financial arrangements. She simply signed what she was asked to sign.””
Richard laughed bitterly.
“That's a convenient explanation.””
Thomas leaned back.
“Would you like to tell her what really happened, Richard?””
“Don't.””
“Or should I?””
I looked at Richard.
“What is he talking about?””
Richard's jaw tightened.
Thomas smiled.
“Your father's business partner wasn't as innocent as he wants you to believe.””
I turned toward him.
“What did Richard do?””
Thomas opened his briefcase and removed another document.
“This is a transfer authorization from the original investment company. It was approved by Richard Hale.””
Richard stepped forward.
“That's an incomplete copy.””
“It's a signed document.””
“It was signed after Michael's death.””
Thomas placed it beside the first.
The date was three days after my father's funeral.
I looked at Richard.
“Did you authorize this?””
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.””
My stomach dropped.
“What did you transfer?””
“Money from the operating account into a temporary holding account.””
Thomas laughed.
“Nearly half a million dollars.””
Richard turned toward him.
“To protect the properties from being seized.””
“By whom?”” I asked.
Richard looked at me.
“Thomas had been moving money out of the company. I believed he was going to liquidate everything.””
“And you moved the money yourself?””
“Yes.””
I stepped away.
“So both of you were moving money around while Dad was dying?””
Richard's expression changed.
“Emily, I was trying to protect what he built.””
Thomas tapped the table.
“That's what he always says.””
I looked down at the paperwork again.
The signature on the account application bothered me.
Something about it was familiar.
I pulled out my phone and opened an old document I'd signed years ago.
My passport renewal form.
I placed the screen beside the forged signature.
The difference was small, but obvious.
My real signature had a distinctive loop in the final letter.
The forged one didn't.
“That's not my signature.””
Thomas shrugged.
“Then have it examined.””
“I intend to.””
I gathered the documents and placed them in a folder.
Thomas stood.
“Before you do that, you should know something else.””
I looked at him.
“Your father didn't leave you control of the trust because he thought you were honest.””
He paused.
“He left it to you because he knew you could be manipulated.””
I felt my face burn.
“Get out.””
He picked up his briefcase.
“Your birthday is six weeks away. Until then, I suggest you be very careful about what you sign.””
He walked toward the hallway.
Before leaving, he turned toward Linda.
“Call me tonight.””
My mother nodded.
I watched him disappear through the front door.
Then I turned toward her.
“Why does he still have access to you?””
She began crying.
“He's the only person who understands what happened.””
“No. He's the person who helped it happen.””
Linda shook her head.
“You don't know what your father was like near the end.””
“Stop using Dad as an excuse.””
Her face tightened.
“You always thought he was perfect.””
“I thought he loved me.””
“He did. But he also made decisions that affected all of us.””
I looked at the blue box.
“Where is the second envelope?””
She remained silent.
Richard answered.
“Linda, I think it's time.””
My mother looked at him with hatred.
Then she walked upstairs.
We heard a door open.
A drawer slide.
Then footsteps.
She returned holding a small cream-colored envelope.
It was sealed.
My father's handwriting appeared across the front.
*For Emily, if the first truth is not enough.*
I took it.
“Why didn't you give this to me?””
Linda's eyes filled.
“Because I knew what was inside.””
I broke the seal.
There were two pages.
The first contained a list of names.
The second contained a handwritten statement.
I began reading.
Emily, if you have reached this letter, you now know that someone used your identity to move money from the company.
I continued.
But the forged signatures were not created by Thomas Bell.
My eyes moved to the next line.
They were created by someone who knew your handwriting better than anyone.
I stopped.
My mother looked away.
Richard whispered, “Keep reading.””
The final sentence was short.
Your mother kept the original practice sheets in the room where you learned to write.
I stared at her.
“What practice sheets?””
Linda didn't answer.
Then I remembered.
When I was seven, my mother had made me practice writing my name on sheets of paper because she wanted my handwriting to look neat.
She had kept everything.
Every school drawing.
Every spelling test.
Every birthday card.
Every handwritten note.
And suddenly, I understood why my father had written that sentence.
The person who forged my signature hadn't simply copied it.
They had practiced it.
Using my childhood handwriting.
I looked at my mother.
“Did you teach someone to write my name?””
Her face collapsed.
May you like
And after eleven years of silence, she finally whispered:
“Yes.””
