Chapter 4 - The Contract With My Name on ItThe signature looked convincing.
My name curved across the bottom of the contract, followed by a date from six months earlier.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Then I remembered exactly where I had been on that date.
Sitting beside Grandpa's hospital bed.
He had suffered a small stroke that morning. His speech had been slow, his right hand trembling whenever he tried to lift his water glass.
I hadn't left the hospital until midnight.
I pointed at the page.
“I never signed this.”
Victor Shaw shrugged.
“Then someone must have signed on your behalf.”
“That's not how consent works.”
“Miss Bennett, our company operates in good faith. We relied on the representations made by your father.”
“Your company attempted to purchase land from someone who didn't own it.”
“We were assured the ownership situation was being resolved.”
“By forging my signature?”
Victor's expression hardened.
“I didn't say that.”
“You brought a contract with a signature I never made.”
Rebecca stepped between us.
“This discussion is over until our counsel has reviewed the document.”
Victor closed the folder.
“I wouldn't recommend making enemies of people who have already invested substantial resources in this property.”
The deputy touched his radio.
“Are you threatening someone, sir?”
Victor smiled without humor.
“Not at all.”
He tucked the folder beneath his arm and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned to me.
“You should ask your grandfather why he kept so many secrets. You might discover that the people you think are protecting you have their own interests.”
Then he was gone.
The front door clicked shut.
I stared at the empty doorway.
“That sounded like a threat.”
“It was intended to,” Rebecca replied.
She took the contract from the desk.
“We'll have the signature examined.”
“Can someone really forge a signature that well?”
“Unfortunately.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Has anyone ever had access to your identification documents?”
I thought about my driver's license, my birth certificate, and the old folder Grandpa kept containing my school records.
“Only Grandpa.”
“And your parents?”
“No.”
My answer surprised even me.
I had spent seventeen years believing my parents were strangers who happened to share my face.
But there were still things they had done before they left.
Things I couldn't remember clearly.
I was five when they brought me to Grandpa's house in the middle of winter. I remembered Mom's perfume and Dad carrying a brown suitcase. I remembered Chloe sleeping against Mom's shoulder.
I remembered crying because I wanted to take my stuffed rabbit with me.
Dad had promised to return the following weekend.
He hadn't returned for seventeen years.
But I had never asked Grandpa why they left.
Not directly.
Every time I tried, he gave me the same answer.
“Some people make choices they spend their lives trying to escape.”
Now I wondered what he had meant.
Ms. Brooks approached the desk.
“Clara, we need to discuss the contents of the trust. Your grandfather left you more than the house.”
She opened a thick binder.
“His investments, several rental properties, and a controlling interest in Bennett Agricultural Holdings.”
I stared at her.
“What is Bennett Agricultural Holdings?”
“Your grandfather's company.”
“I thought he was retired.”
“He was retired from daily operations. He never sold his ownership stake.”
I had grown up believing Grandpa lived on his pension and the money he made selling vegetables at the farmers' market.
He repaired his own shoes.
He wore shirts until the collars frayed.
He drove a twenty-year-old truck because he said a newer vehicle would only give him newer things to worry about.
Apparently, he had been worth considerably more than I knew.
“How much was the company worth?”
Rebecca turned a page.
“The last independent valuation was approximately eleven million dollars. That does not include the land held separately by the trust.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Eleven million.
Dad had told people Grandpa was a stubborn old man who refused to help his family.
Mom had told relatives he was selfish.
I had spent years worrying that I cost him too much money.
And all along, he had possessed enough wealth to live differently.
I swallowed.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Ms. Brooks softened.
“Perhaps he wanted you to understand that your worth had nothing to do with his money.”
She was probably right.
That didn't make the secret hurt less.
I turned back to the contract.
The date stared up at me.
Six months earlier.
Someone had used my identity to help sell a property I had never agreed to sell.
Someone who knew my signature.
Someone who knew my birth date.
Someone who had access to my family's private history.
Then I saw a handwritten notation in the margin.
Original identification verified by R.B.
I recognized the initials.
Rebecca Brooks.
I looked up sharply.
“Did you verify my identification?”
Rebecca frowned.
“No. Why?”
I pointed to the notation.
Her face changed.
She removed her glasses and examined the page.
Then she whispered, “This is very bad.”
“What is it?”
May you like
She turned toward Ms. Brooks.
“Someone is using my name too.”
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