Chapter 5
I stared at the document Angela placed in front of me.
My name appeared at the bottom.
Maya Bennett.
The signature looked almost perfect.
The same looping M.
The same sharp B.
Even the little curl I sometimes added beneath the final letter.
But I had never signed it.
"I didn't do this."
Angela nodded.
"I believe you."
Dad stood behind my chair.
His hands rested on my shoulders.
"How could someone copy her signature so well?"
Angela pointed toward the document.
"That's one of the questions investigators will need to answer."
We were back at her office.
Mom remained in the hospital under observation.
Police had taken her statement about Daniel's alleged assault.
She had also agreed to provide information about the trust.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the signature.
Someone had studied my handwriting.
Someone had practiced copying it.
Someone had decided my identity belonged to them.
Angela opened another folder.
"This declaration is dated six weeks ago."
I frowned.
"Six weeks?"
"Yes."
I searched my memory.
Six weeks earlier, I'd been completing financial aid forms for college.
Mom had helped me gather documents.
She'd asked me to sign several forms.
My stomach tightened.
"Dad."
He looked down.
"What?"
"Mom had me sign paperwork."
Angela leaned forward.
"What kind?"
"College forms. Financial aid. Insurance information."
"Did you read everything?"
I felt embarrassed.
"Not carefully."
Dad squeezed my shoulders.
"That's okay, sweetheart."
Angela nodded.
"Don't blame yourself. We need to examine what was actually presented."
I swallowed.
"Could Mom have given Daniel my signature?"
"Possibly. But we need evidence before drawing conclusions."
I looked at the forged declaration again.
My name.
My future.
My grandfather's love.
Reduced to a piece of paper someone thought they could manipulate.
I felt anger building.
For days, I'd been frightened.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
Now I wanted to fight.
"What can I do?" I asked.
Angela smiled slightly.
"First, write a formal statement explaining that you never signed or authorized this declaration."
I nodded.
"Okay."
"Second, preserve any messages, documents, or emails connected to your college paperwork."
"I can do that."
"Third, don't contact Daniel."
I looked up.
"I wasn't planning to."
Dad gave me a look.
I almost smiled.
He knew me too well.
Angela continued.
"The trust administrator has been notified that the assignment is disputed. We are seeking court protection while the authenticity of the documents is examined."
I exhaled.
"Does that mean the money is safe?"
"For now, the disputed assets are restricted. But we need a full accounting."
I nodded.
It wasn't a victory.
But it was something.
That afternoon, Dad and I returned home to collect my laptop and paperwork.
The kitchen had been cleaned.
The red stains were gone from the marble.
But the ruined journal remained on the counter inside a protective box.
Grandma had asked us not to touch it until a document conservator examined it.
I stood beside the island.
For a moment, I could hear Mom screaming again.
YOU ruined Grandma's journal.
I closed my eyes.
Dad noticed.
"Want me to get your things?"
I shook my head.
"No. I can do it."
I was tired of being afraid inside my own home.
I walked upstairs.
My bedroom looked exactly as I'd left it.
Textbooks on the desk.
A sweatshirt hanging from the chair.
Photographs pinned above my bed.
One showed me at fifteen, standing beside Grandpa at my birthday party.
He was smiling proudly.
His arm was around my shoulders.
I touched the photograph.
"I miss you."
My voice cracked.
"I wish you were here."
For a moment, I let myself cry.
Then I opened my desk drawer.
Inside was the folder Mom had given me for my college paperwork.
I spread the documents across my bed.
Financial aid forms.
Enrollment verification.
Insurance information.
A copy of my student ID.
Then I found something strange.
A photocopy of my driver's license.
I didn't remember making it.
On the back, someone had written a phone number.
I stared at it.
The handwriting wasn't mine.
I took a picture and sent it to Angela.
Then I called Dad upstairs.
He examined the number.
"Do you recognize it?"
I shook my head.
"No."
He called Angela.
She told us not to assume the number's owner without verification.
But she said it could be useful to investigators.
I placed the document in a clean folder.
Then I noticed another detail.
A small blue sticky note attached to one of the forms.
It contained three words.
ASK DANIEL FIRST.
My stomach turned.
Mom had been coordinating my paperwork with him.
I sat on the bed.
Dad crouched beside me.
"Sweetheart?"
I stared at the note.
"How much did Mom know?"
He didn't answer.
Because neither of us knew.
That evening, Grandma asked to speak with me privately.
We sat in her bedroom.
She had placed Grandpa's photograph on the nightstand.
Beside it was a small wooden jewelry box.
"Maya, there's something I should've told you earlier."
I felt nervous.
"What?"
Grandma opened the box.
Inside was a gold necklace with a tiny key-shaped pendant.
She lifted it carefully.
"Your grandfather bought this when you were born."
I stared at it.
"It's beautiful."
"He wanted to give it to you on your twenty-first birthday."
My eyes filled.
"Why are you giving it to me now?"
Grandma smiled sadly.
"Because I think he would want you to have it."
She placed the necklace in my palm.
I touched the little key.
It felt warm.
Grandma continued.
"Your grandfather was a careful man. He didn't trust Daniel completely."
I looked up.
"Then why did he work with him?"
"Daniel was recommended by a longtime business associate. Your grandfather believed people deserved a chance to prove themselves."
I nodded.
"That sounds like Grandpa."
Grandma smiled.
"Yes."
Then her expression became serious.
"But once he discovered inconsistencies, he started keeping records."
"Like the documents in the bank?"
"Yes."
She reached into the jewelry box again.
This time, she removed a small folded paper.
It contained a handwritten address.
I recognized the street name.
It was near Grandpa's old office.
"What's this?"
Grandma lowered her voice.
"A storage facility."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Your grandfather rented a small unit shortly before he died. He told me it contained things he wanted preserved."
My heart began pounding.
"Did you ever open it?"
Grandma shook her head.
"No. I wasn't ready."
I stared at the paper.
"Could there be more evidence?"
"Possibly."
I looked toward the doorway.
Dad was downstairs on the phone with Angela.
I stood.
"We should tell him."
Grandma nodded.
"Yes."
But before we could leave, my phone vibrated.
A message from Mom.
Maya, please don't go to Grandpa's storage unit.
I froze.
Grandma looked at my face.
"What is it?"
I showed her.
She stared at the message.
Then she whispered, "How does Claire know about that place?"
I looked at the address in my hand.
My mother had warned me not to go.
May you like
Which meant she knew something was there.
And whatever it was, someone was desperate to keep us from finding it.
