Chapter 7 - The Signature That Wasn't Mine
I knew the signature was forged before Miriam finished opening the file.
My father had taught me to sign my name when I was six.
He used to joke that the unusual curve in my C looked like a fishing hook.
The signature on the document was almost perfect.
Almost.
Whoever had copied it had missed one small detail.
I never connected the final stroke of my first name to my last.
The person who signed this document had.
Miriam studied the page.
"We need the original."
"Can Daniel use it?"
"He may try."
"Will it work?"
"Not if we can establish it's fraudulent."
I looked at the date.
October 22, 2018.
The day after my father's funeral.
I remembered that day.
I had barely been able to get out of bed.
Daniel had brought me tea.
He had sat beside me and told me not to worry about the company.
He would take care of everything.
I had believed him.
Now I wondered what else he had done while I was grieving.
Miriam contacted the corporate records office.
The alleged agreement had never been properly registered.
It lacked the required independent verification.
But it had appeared in several internal legal files.
Someone had been preparing to use it.
"Why wait eight years?" I asked.
Miriam considered the question.
"Maybe Daniel didn't need it until now."
"Because he thought I'd never challenge him."
"Exactly."
The next morning, we visited Martin Hale.
He sat in a wheelchair beside a window overlooking a garden.
His hair had turned white.
His right hand trembled.
When he saw me, his eyes filled.
"Claire."
His voice was weak.
I sat beside him.
"Hello, Martin."
He reached for my hand.
"I'm sorry."
I swallowed.
"For what?"
He struggled to speak.
"Arthur."
"My father?"
Martin nodded.
"Warned him."
"About Daniel?"
Another nod.
"About Vanessa?"
His expression changed.
Fear.
He gripped my wrist.
"Bridge."
I leaned closer.
"What bridge?"
He pointed toward a notebook on his bedside table.
Miriam handed it to him.
His hand shook as he wrote.
Bridgepoint Holdings.
Then he wrote a second line.
Not a consulting company.
"What is it?"
Martin closed his eyes.
"Money."
He coughed.
"Hidden."
"Where?"
He shook his head.
Then he wrote three more words.
Look at payroll.
Miriam photographed the page.
"Martin, did you help Daniel?"
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Yes."
I felt as though someone had punched me.
"Why?"
Martin looked at me.
"They threatened my son."
I waited.
He continued.
"I thought I could fix it."
"Did my father know?"
Martin nodded.
"He was going to expose everything."
My heart hammered.
"What happened before the accident?"
Martin's breathing quickened.
A nurse entered.
"We need to stop."
I stood.
"Martin, please."
He caught my hand one last time.
"Claire."
"Yes?"
His lips trembled.
"Your father didn't die because he was careless."
The nurse moved between us.
Martin began coughing violently.
I stepped backward.
Miriam guided me into the hallway.
For the first time since Valentine's Day, I felt genuinely afraid.
Not of Daniel.
Not of Vanessa.
May you like
Of the possibility that the betrayal had begun long before my marriage collapsed.
And that my father had paid the price for discovering it.
