Chapter 4
I barely slept.
Every time a car passed outside, I looked toward the window.
I kept imagining Denise returning.
Not because I wanted her back.
Because her final words wouldn't leave my head.
Enjoy your house while you can.
At seven the next morning, Dad knocked on my bedroom door.
"Maya?"
I sat up.
"Come in."
He entered carrying two cups of coffee.
He handed me one.
Then sat in the chair near my desk.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said, "I called the county recorder's office."
My stomach tightened.
"And?"
"The document exists."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He nodded.
"Someone submitted a transfer instrument concerning the house."
My hands began shaking.
"But you didn't sign it."
"No."
"Then how can it exist?"
Dad looked exhausted.
"That's what we need to find out."
We drove to Rachel Coleman's office that morning.
She greeted us in a dark-blue suit.
Her expression was serious.
She spread the documents across her desk.
Then looked at Dad.
"Marcus, tell me exactly what happened."
He explained everything.
The message.
The argument.
Denise's phone call.
The missing trust documents.
Rachel listened carefully.
Then examined the transfer instrument.
She frowned.
"This signature needs forensic examination."
Dad leaned forward.
"Can we stop the transfer?"
"We can challenge it and seek appropriate emergency relief."
I felt my heart racing.
Rachel continued.
"But we need to understand the ownership structure first."
She opened the trust documents.
Mom had established the trust when she became seriously ill.
I was thirteen.
Her doctors had told her the cancer was spreading.
She wanted to make sure I would never be homeless.
She wanted Dad to have stability too.
So she arranged for the house to remain available to him during his lifetime, subject to the trust's terms.
Then the property would belong to me.
I had heard parts of that before.
But listening to Rachel explain it made my throat tighten.
Mom had been dying.
And she was thinking about where I would live years later.
Rachel pointed toward one paragraph.
"Under these documents, Marcus has certain rights to occupy and manage the property."
She looked at Dad.
"But that doesn't necessarily include the power to transfer the entire property to Denise."
Dad nodded slowly.
I felt relief.
Then Rachel added something unexpected.
"There's also a successor trustee provision."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
She turned the document toward me.
"Your mother named you to assume certain responsibilities when you reached twenty-one."
My heart jumped.
"Me?"
Rachel nodded.
"Yes."
I looked at Dad.
He looked surprised.
"Why didn't I know?"
Rachel examined another page.
"There should have been a notice sent last year."
Dad frowned.
"We never received one."
I stared at him.
"Did Denise handle the mail?"
He went still.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he nodded.
"Yes."
Rachel made a note.
"We'll investigate that too."
She continued reviewing the trust records.
Then her expression changed.
"Interesting."
I leaned forward.
"What?"
She pointed toward a bank statement.
"The trust maintains a separate account for property expenses."
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
Rachel examined the transactions.
"There have been several unusual withdrawals."
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"
She added the amounts.
Then looked up.
"Nearly ninety thousand dollars over eighteen months."
Dad stared at her.
"What?"
My chest tightened.
Ninety thousand dollars.
I had spent years working part-time jobs to pay my expenses.
Meanwhile, someone had been withdrawing enormous amounts from an account connected to my mother's estate.
Rachel continued.
"The payments appear to have gone to a consulting company."
Dad frowned.
"Which company?"
She turned the page.
"Evergreen Lifestyle Management."
I knew that name.
I'd seen it on Denise's laptop.
It was the company she claimed helped organize luxury events.
I looked at Dad.
"That's Denise's business."
His face drained.
Rachel stopped writing.
"Are you certain?"
I nodded.
"She showed me the website last Christmas."
Dad covered his mouth.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered, "She told me the business wasn't making money."
I stared at him.
Denise had complained constantly about needing financial support.
She said Dad wasn't generous enough.
She said he didn't appreciate her ambition.
She accused me of being selfish whenever I questioned expensive purchases.
Now I wondered whether my mother's trust had been paying for her lifestyle.
Rachel looked at Dad.
"We need a complete accounting."
He nodded.
"Whatever it takes."
She explained that the records would need to be reviewed by a forensic accountant.
The trust's bank would be contacted.
Any disputed authorization would be examined.
And the property transfer could be challenged through the appropriate court process.
Then Rachel looked at me.
"Maya, have you ever signed documents related to this property?"
I shook my head.
"No."
She examined the transfer paperwork again.
"Your name appears here."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
She pointed toward the last page.
Beneath Dad's alleged signature was another.
Mine.
Maya Carter.
I stared at it.
The letters looked almost perfect.
But I knew immediately.
"I didn't sign that."
Rachel's expression hardened.
"Then we may be dealing with two disputed signatures."
Dad stood.
His chair scraped against the floor.
"Denise forged my daughter's name?"
Rachel raised a hand.
"We need to verify that."
But I could see the anger building in his face.
I looked at the signature again.
Someone had copied the way I curved the letter M.
Someone had practiced.
Someone who had access to my mail.
My school documents.
My handwriting.
Then I remembered something.
Three months earlier, Denise had asked me to sign a birthday card for one of Dad's business partners.
She said she wanted my handwriting because mine looked elegant.
I signed several blank cards.
She claimed one had smudged.
I never saw the cards again.
My stomach turned.
I looked at Rachel.
"I think I know how she copied my signature."
May you like
And suddenly, the house wasn't the only thing I feared losing.
I feared how much of my identity Denise had been using without my knowledge.
