Chapter 2: The Document Nobody Was Supposed to See
I didn't sleep that night.
At 1:17 a.m., I was sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom, staring at my bank statement.
The house was quiet.
Through the wall, I could hear Ethan laughing at something on his computer. Every few minutes, his phone buzzed.
He was probably showing his friends pictures of his new car.
I opened my banking history again.
The $10,000 transfer had been made at 9:42 a.m.
The recipient was an account ending in 8831.
I didn't recognize the number.
But I recognized the description beneath it.
*AUTHORIZED EXTERNAL TRANSFER.*
I had never authorized it.
At 9:42 that morning, I had been carrying a tray of coffees to a table of customers.
I remembered because one customer had spilled an entire latte, and my manager had made me clean it before I could take my break.
I opened the bank's customer service page.
A security notice appeared.
For suspicious transactions, contact our fraud department immediately.
My finger hovered over the button.
Then I heard footsteps.
My bedroom door opened.
Mom stood there in her pink bathrobe.
"What are you doing awake?""
"Checking my account.""
She looked at my laptop.
"Claire, we already discussed this.""
"No, Dad shouted at me. That's not a discussion.""
She sighed and entered the room.
"Your father made a decision because he was trying to help the family.""
"How does buying Ethan a Mercedes help the family?""
"He needs transportation for work.""
"Ethan quit his last job two weeks ago.""
Her expression tightened.
"He's looking for something better.""
"Then he can take the bus like I did.""
Mom sat on the edge of my bed.
"You're being selfish.""
I stared at her.
"Do you hear yourself?""
"Your brother has always had a harder time than you.""
"Because you keep making things easier for him.""
She stood.
"Don't speak about your brother like that.""
"Then stop using my money to buy him things.""
Mom walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned around.
"Your father will replace the money when he can.""
"When?""
"I don't know.""
"Before my tuition deadline?""
She didn't answer.
I closed the laptop.
"Mom, I need that money by Monday.""
She looked uncomfortable.
"Maybe you should defer a semester.""
My stomach tightened.
"You're telling me to postpone college so Ethan can drive a new car?""
"It's only one semester.""
"For him, it's a new car. For me, it's my future.""
Mom's lips pressed together.
"Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for family.""
Then she left.
I sat in the dark for another hour.
At 6:30 a.m., I put on my uniform and walked downstairs.
Dad was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee.
A thick folder lay beside his plate.
He immediately covered it with his newspaper.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning.""
I opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.
Then I casually asked, "What's Carter & Hall?""
His coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
"Why?""
"Just curious.""
"Don't be.""
I looked at the folder.
"Is that what they printed?""
Dad put his cup down.
"Claire, I have work to do.""
"Then I'll ask them myself.""
He stood so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor.
"You're not going anywhere near that office.""
I turned around.
"Why not?""
"Because it's a private family matter.""
"Then why was my bank account involved?""
His face reddened.
"You're making a serious mistake.""
Before I could respond, he grabbed the folder and walked into his home office.
The door slammed.
I waited until I heard the lock click.
Then I left.
Carter & Hall was a small legal document preparation office on the other side of town.
I found its address through a quick search on my phone.
When I arrived, the receptionist looked up from her computer.
"Good morning. Can I help you?""
"Hi. I'm Claire Miller. I think someone recently paid for documents under my name.""
She typed something.
"Do you have an order number?""
"No, but the payment was $47.50.""
Her fingers stopped.
She looked at the screen again.
"One moment.""
She disappeared into the back office.
A minute later, a woman in her fifties emerged wearing glasses and a gray cardigan.
"Miss Miller?""
"Yes.""
"I'm Patricia Hall. What documents are you looking for?""
I swallowed.
"I'm not sure. My father paid for something here three days ago.""
She studied my face.
"Richard Miller?""
"Yes.""
Patricia's expression changed.
"Did he tell you he was preparing an affidavit?""
My heart began pounding.
"An affidavit about what?""
She glanced toward the reception desk.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Miss Miller, I need to be careful. We don't disclose another client's documents without authorization. But I can tell you that the paperwork your father requested included a notarized signature page.""
"Whose signature?""
She hesitated.
"Yours.""
The room seemed to tilt.
"That's impossible.""
Patricia folded her hands.
"Did you sign any documents recently?""
"No.""
"Not even electronically?""
"No.""
She looked uncomfortable.
"Then I strongly suggest you obtain a copy of the filing and contact the appropriate authorities.""
"Can you tell me what it was for?""
Patricia glanced at the computer again.
"An affidavit concerning financial authority over a family member's accounts.""
I felt cold.
"Financial authority?""
She nodded.
"Your father stated that you had granted him permission to manage certain financial matters because you were frequently unavailable due to school and work.""
I gripped the counter.
"I never gave him that permission.""
Patricia's eyes softened.
"Then you should act quickly.""
I pulled out my phone.
"Can I see the signature?""
She hesitated, then turned the monitor slightly.
A scanned page appeared.
My full name was printed at the bottom.
Claire Elizabeth Miller.
And above it was a signature.
It looked almost exactly like mine.
Except I had never written it.
My father had forged my signature.
I took a photograph of the screen before Patricia turned it away.
"Miss Hall, what does this document allow him to do?""
"Based on the description, it appears to support his claim that he has authority to act on your behalf regarding financial matters.""
"Does it give him access to my bank account?""
"I can't give you a legal interpretation without reviewing the complete document.""
I nodded.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your father also asked whether this paperwork could be used to establish that you had voluntarily transferred money to him.""
I couldn't speak.
Voluntarily transferred.
That was what the bank transaction looked like.
Not theft.
Not fraud.
A gift.
My father was preparing a story in which I had willingly given him my savings.
"Did he mention why?"" I whispered.
Patricia shook her head.
"No. But he seemed very concerned about a deadline.""
"What deadline?""
She checked the file.
"Monday morning.""
Monday.
My tuition payment deadline.
I thanked her and walked outside.
The November air felt sharp against my face.
I called the bank immediately.
After twenty minutes, a fraud specialist named Daniel answered.
I explained everything.
He asked me several security questions, then placed a temporary restriction on outgoing transfers.
"Miss Miller," he said, "I can see the $10,000 transfer. It was processed using your online credentials.""
"But I didn't authorize it.""
"Do you recognize the receiving account?""
"No.""
"Then we'll need to investigate. I'll also recommend changing your password and enabling additional verification.""
"Can you tell me who owns the account?""
"I'm sorry. That information isn't available through this department.""
I thanked him and hung up.
Then my phone rang.
Dad.
I answered.
"Where are you?"" he demanded.
"Why?""
"Your mother said you went somewhere.""
"To Carter & Hall.""
Silence.
Then a sharp breath.
"What did you do?""
"I saw the affidavit.""
He didn't speak for several seconds.
Finally, he said, "Come home. Now.""
"Did you forge my signature?""
"Claire—"
"Did you?""
His voice became dangerously calm.
"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.""
I looked down the street.
"Then explain it to me.""
He hung up.
I stared at the screen.
A message arrived seconds later.
It was from an unknown number.
*Stop investigating your father's paperwork. You have no idea whose name is on the other document.*
I read it twice.
Then a second message appeared.
*Ask your mother what happened to the house on Willow Creek Drive.*
I knew that address.
It was my grandmother's house.
May you like
The house she had left behind when she died.
And as far as I knew, it had been empty for almost two years.
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