Chapter 4 - The Contract I Never Signed
Someone had been planning my disappearance from my own property file.
Calder sent the contract to me that night.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
The agreement was painfully simple.
Brentwood would be transferred to a Hale-controlled company for four hundred thousand dollars.
The document claimed the seller had agreed voluntarily.
The seller was me.
Except I had never seen it.
Never signed it.
Never negotiated it.
Never spoken to Richard Hale about selling.
There was one problem with the entire plan.
The contract had been drafted by someone who apparently knew nothing about my habits.
I never signed legal documents with black ink.
Never.
I always used blue ink because Calder had drilled it into me years ago.
The forged signature was black.
“Who prepared it?” I asked.
“We're tracing the metadata.”
“Can you?”
“Probably.”
“And the signature?”
“Forgery is difficult to prove from appearance alone.”
“But?”
“But your bank records can establish you weren't present for the supposed signing.”
“Where does it claim I signed?”
Calder checked.
“Savannah.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I've never been to Savannah in my life.”
“That's useful.”
“No. It's insulting.”
My phone buzzed.
Trent.
I let it ring.
He called again.
Then again.
Finally, I answered.
“What?”
His voice sounded strained.
“Dad, we need to talk.”
“We already talked.”
“No, we didn't.”
“What do you want?”
“I need your help.”
The irony almost made me laugh.
“What kind?”
“There are some financial issues.”
“What kind of financial issues?”
He went quiet.
“I can't explain over the phone.”
“Then don't.”
“Dad…”
“You asked me for help when you were twenty-two.”
“I know.”
“You asked me for help again when you married Madison.”
“I know.”
“You asked me for a place to live.”
“I know.”
“And now?”
Silence.
“Now you're asking me for something else.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“The house.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not regret.
A negotiation.
“What about it?”
“I need you to sign something.”
“What?”
“A transfer.”
I almost admired the nerve.
“A transfer to whom?”
“It's complicated.”
“No. It's simple.”
He stopped.
“You want my house.”
“No.”
“You just said you need me to sign a transfer.”
“I meant temporarily.”
“Temporarily?”
“Just until things stabilize.”
“What things?”
He exhaled.
“I made a mistake.”
That was the first honest sentence he'd said.
“What kind?”
“I signed a guarantee.”
“How much?”
Silence.
“How much, Trent?”
“Six hundred and forty.”
My chest tightened.
“Thousand?”
“Yes.”
“For Richard?”
He went silent.
“Dad, how do you know that?”
“I know enough.”
His breathing changed.
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you're misunderstanding everything.”
“Then explain.”
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“No, Dad.”
His voice broke slightly.
“There's no way out.”
That sentence changed the conversation.
I sat down.
“Why?”
“Because if I don't fix this, Madison's family loses everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“What's actually happening?”
“My father-in-law's company owes people money.”
“How much?”
“More than I know.”
“And you guaranteed the loan.”
“Yes.”
“Using my property.”
“No.”
I waited.
Then he whispered:
“Not officially.”
I stared at the wall.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the property was supposed to be collateral.”
“But it's mine.”
“I know.”
“No, Trent. You knew.”
He didn't answer.
“Did you sign that purchase agreement?”
His breathing stopped.
“Dad…”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you forge my signature?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
“That answer isn't good enough.”
“I swear.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear I'm not.”
I heard another voice in the background.
Madison.
“Who are you talking to?”
Trent covered the phone.
I heard muffled words.
Then his voice returned.
“Dad, please. Don't call the police.”
I froze.
I hadn't mentioned police.
“Why would I call the police?”
He didn't answer.
That was all I needed.
I ended the call.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at my front door.
It was Madison.
She stood beneath my porch light wearing a cream coat and holding her purse tightly.
“Kent,” she said softly, “please don't destroy our marriage.”
I stared at her.
“You're worried about your marriage?”
“Yes.”
“I'm worried about the fact that someone forged my signature.”
Her face went still.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“You don't know what Richard will do if this falls apart.”
