Chapter 6 - THE THIRD SIGNATUREI didn't sleep.
At sunrise, Ethan flew back to his office while I stayed in London.
We spent the morning reconstructing the trust.
Every document led to another.
Every signature led to another lie.
My father's trust had been established when I was six.
Originally, I was the sole beneficiary.
Then, five years after his death, amendments appeared.
Victoria had been added.
My mother had been given control.
Daniel Mercer had been appointed administrator.
And a condition had been inserted.
At age thirty-five, if Lauren remained unmarried and had no children, certain property assets would automatically transfer to the secondary beneficiary.
Victoria.
My blood boiled.
“So they punished me for not having a family.”
Ethan corrected me.
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“The condition didn't just transfer property.”
He sent another document.
It transferred control of the trust.
To Victoria.
Then another clause.
If Victoria could prove Lauren had abandoned the property for more than twelve months, the trust could distribute the assets immediately.
I stared at the screen.
“They needed me out.”
“Yes.”
“And the penthouse?”
“Was the most valuable asset.”
My mind raced.
Victoria hadn't suddenly decided to move into my home.
Someone had pushed her.
Someone had told her the transfer was already happening.
Someone had created the fake lease to manufacture evidence that she had possession.
But why?
Ethan found the answer.
“Because whoever created that lease wanted to trigger another clause.”
“What clause?”
“Illegal abandonment.”
I frowned.
“Why would breaking into my apartment help them?”
“It wouldn't.”
He turned the screen around.
“Unless the lease became evidence that you voluntarily transferred possession.”
Then it clicked.
They weren't trying to steal the penthouse from me directly.
They were trying to create a paper trail suggesting I gave it away willingly.
If that succeeded, the trust could challenge the sale.
My sale to Ethan could be declared part of a fraudulent transfer.
Meaning Ethan could lose the property.
And I could lose everything.
“They planned this before I sold.”
Ethan nodded.
“Which means they knew you were considering selling.”
My stomach dropped.
Only four people knew.
My attorney.
The realtor.
The buyer.
And my mother.
I called my attorney.
He answered immediately.
“Lauren, I was going to contact you.”
“Did you tell anyone about the sale?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask?”
He hesitated.
“Your mother called me.”
“What did she ask?”
“Whether you had sold the property.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then how did she know?”
Silence.
My attorney whispered, “She didn't ask.”
“What?”
“She already knew.”
The line went dead.
Ethan stared at me.
“That changes things.”
“Why?”
“Because it means your mother's access to information wasn't through your lawyer.”
“So how?”
He showed me the trust ledger.
Someone had downloaded my financial records three weeks before the sale.
The user account was mine.
But the IP address came from Washington.
I hadn't been there.
Someone was using my identity.
And then Ethan found the third signature.
A power-of-attorney form.
Lauren Bennett.
Authorizing:
Victoria Bennett.
I stared.
“I never signed that.”
“We know.”
“Then who did?”
Ethan zoomed in.
The signature wasn't mine.
It was better.
Far better.
It had been digitally inserted.
At the bottom was a witness signature.
Vera Mercer.
My blood ran cold.
“She's dead.”
“Officially.”
Ethan looked at the timestamp.
The document had been created six months ago.
After the date of her reported death.
Then he asked the question neither of us wanted to answer.
“Who benefits if we believe Vera is dead?”
I looked at the screen.
“The person using her identity.”
“Exactly.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
It was Victoria.
Her voice was trembling.
“Lauren.”
“What happened?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“I went through Mom's old desk.”
“And?”
“I found a photograph.”
“Of Vera?”
“No.”
Victoria swallowed.
“Of you.”
I waited.
“Lauren, there's a man standing beside you in the photograph.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What does he look like?”
“A little older than Dad.”
“Anything else?”
Victoria whispered,
“He has your father's ring.”
My heart stopped.
“My father was buried with that ring.”
Victoria's voice cracked.
“That's why I'm calling.”
May you like
“Why?”
“Because the photograph was taken yesterday.”
