Chapter 4 - The Name That Shouldn't Have Been There
I stood frozen in the kitchen.
Dad was still talking to Samuel.
Claire was crying quietly.
Maya sat near the window.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the name I had seen.
Angela Williams.
My mother.
She died when I was ten.
For nine years, Dad had kept her photographs in the hallway.
He never spoke badly about her.
He never asked me to forget her.
And when he married Claire, he made one thing clear.
Nobody was allowed to treat my mother's memory like something that needed to disappear.
So why had Victor been carrying documents with her name?
"Dad," I interrupted.
He looked up.
"What?"
"I saw Mom's name on one of Victor's papers."
The room went silent.
Dad slowly lowered his phone.
"Your mother?"
I nodded.
"Yesterday. When I helped him with those boxes."
Claire looked confused.
"What would Victor have with Angela's name on it?"
"I don't know."
Dad turned toward the stairs.
"Let's check his room."
We went upstairs together.
Victor's guest room looked almost empty.
The bed was neatly made.
His suitcase was gone.
But several cardboard boxes remained in the closet.
Dad opened the first.
Old receipts.
Business cards.
A broken printer.
The second contained folders.
I recognized the color of one immediately.
Dark green.
The same folder Victor had snatched from my hand.
Dad placed it on the bed.
He opened it.
Inside were copies of property records.
Old mortgage statements.
And a document concerning my mother's estate.
Dad's face changed.
"What is this?"
He examined the pages.
Then he sat down.
I moved closer.
The document referred to a life insurance payment made after my mother's death.
I knew Mom had left money behind.
Dad had explained that some had been used to pay funeral expenses and household debts, while the remainder was protected for my future.
But I didn't know the details.
Dad had always said we would discuss everything when I turned twenty-one.
Now I saw the account information printed on the page.
A trust had been established for me.
I looked at Dad.
"Is that my trust?"
He nodded slowly.
"Yes."
"Why does Victor have the documents?"
Dad shook his head.
"I don't know."
Claire looked horrified.
"Marcus, I never gave him those."
Dad turned another page.
His expression darkened.
There was a recent authorization form.
It contained my name.
Jordan Williams.
And a signature that looked like mine.
I stared at it.
"I didn't sign that."
Dad looked up sharply.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
The form appeared to request information about assets held for my benefit.
I didn't understand every line.
But one thing was clear.
Someone had been using my identity without permission.
Dad immediately called Samuel again.
He explained what we'd found.
Samuel told us to preserve the documents and photograph them without altering anything.
He also advised Dad to contact the trust's financial institution through a verified number.
I watched my father pace the room.
His face looked older than it had that morning.
"Dad," I said quietly, "is my money gone?"
He stopped.
Then he approached me.
"Jordan, listen carefully."
I felt my throat tighten.
"We don't know what happened yet."
I nodded.
"But we're going to find out."
I wanted to believe him.
I did believe him.
But I was terrified.
My mother had worked as a registered nurse.
She took extra shifts.
She saved money.
She had wanted me to attend college without being buried in debt.
I remembered her sitting beside me at the kitchen table when I was eight.
She had shown me a savings jar.
"Every little bit adds up, baby," she'd said.
I had laughed.
Now someone might have tried to take what she left behind.
Claire stepped toward me.
"Jordan, I'm so sorry."
I looked at her.
"For what?"
She began crying.
"For bringing Victor into this house."
Dad looked toward her.
"Did he have access to my office?"
Claire nodded.
"He used the computer sometimes."
I felt sick.
Dad kept important documents in a locked filing cabinet.
But the computer contained scanned records from previous years.
Claire had occasionally used it for business invoices.
If Victor had accessed those files, he could have copied personal information.
Dad looked devastated.
"We trusted him."
Claire covered her face.
"I trusted him."
I watched her carefully.
For the first time, her anger toward me had completely disappeared.
But that didn't erase what she had done.
She had shoved me toward the gate.
Called me dangerous.
Threatened to involve the police before hearing my side.
I couldn't forget that simply because something worse had happened afterward.
Dad seemed to understand.
He turned toward me.
"Jordan, you don't have to comfort anyone right now."
I swallowed.
"Okay."
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Your only job is to tell the truth and let us protect you."
Those words nearly broke me.
Because earlier that afternoon, I'd been afraid even he might believe Maya.
Now he was standing beside me.
But I still had questions.
"Why would Victor need me gone?"
Dad looked at the documents.
"Maybe because he thought you'd discovered something."
Claire shook her head.
"But Jordan didn't know anything."
I remembered Victor's reaction when the folders spilled.
"He didn't know that."
Dad nodded slowly.
That made sense.
Victor thought I'd seen enough to expose him.
So he convinced Maya to create an accusation that would force me out.
And Claire had nearly helped him succeed.
Later that evening, Dad received a call from the financial institution handling my trust.
The representative confirmed that the account remained active.
There had been recent requests for information.
But no unauthorized withdrawal had been completed.
Relief rushed through me.
I sat down.
"Thank God."
Dad exhaled.
But there was more.
The institution had flagged an attempt to change the trust's contact information.
The request had not passed its verification process.
Someone had tried to replace Dad's contact details with another email address.
Samuel advised us to secure all relevant accounts immediately.
Dad followed the proper procedures.
Passwords were changed.
Access was reviewed.
Additional verification was requested.
For the first time that day, I felt we were gaining control.
Then Maya appeared in the doorway.
She looked pale.
"There's something else."
Dad turned toward her.
"What?"
She held out her phone.
"Victor sent me a picture yesterday."
I frowned.
"What picture?"
She opened the message.
It showed a document lying on our dining table.
At the bottom were two signatures.
Marcus Williams.
Angela Williams.
My father went completely still.
I stared at the screen.
The document was dated just three weeks earlier.
Nine years after my mother's death.
And beneath those impossible signatures was a property transfer agreement involving our family home.
May you like
Someone had signed my dead mother's name.
And Victor had photographed it.
