Chapter 3 - The Signature That Should Not Exist
I did not open Folder Two immediately.
For several seconds, I simply stared at Samuel.
“My father died of heart failure.”
“That is what his death certificate says.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.
“What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you what Richard told me.”
“Which was?”
“That someone had begun making decisions in his name before he was dead.”
The sentence chilled me more than anything in Folder One.
Samuel opened the folder himself.
Inside were medical forms.
Insurance documents.
A revised power of attorney.
And three photocopies of Dad’s signature.
I recognized the hospital logo immediately.
St. Catherine Medical Center.
The place where Dad spent the last eleven days of his life.
I picked up the first document.
It authorized release of medical information to Julian.
The second gave Julian permission to communicate with doctors.
The third was different.
It was a durable power of attorney.
My stomach tightened.
“I was Dad’s power of attorney.”
“Yes.”
“I signed the original paperwork two years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then what is this?”
“A replacement document.”
I looked at the date.
Nine days before Dad died.
“That’s impossible.”
Samuel nodded.
“Your father was heavily sedated that day.”
I remembered.
He had barely opened his eyes.
I had sat beside him for fourteen hours while rain hit the hospital windows.
Julian had visited for twenty minutes.
Serena had brought flowers.
Raymond had stayed in the hallway making phone calls.
Dad had barely spoken.
Yet according to the paper in my hand, he had somehow revoked my authority and appointed Julian.
“Was this filed?”
“Someone attempted to file it.”
“Someone?”
“The hospital received a copy. So did one of Richard’s banks.”
My pulse pounded.
“Did they accept it?”
“The hospital initially did.”
My mind raced backward.
Three days before Dad died, a nurse had told me his medication schedule had changed.
I asked who approved it.
She said the doctor had spoken with family.
I assumed she meant me.
“What medical decisions were made?”
Samuel leaned back.
“That is what your father wanted investigated.”
I looked at him.
“You’re saying Julian changed his treatment?”
“I’m saying we do not know yet.”
“Then why put it in the safe?”
“Because Richard found out.”
“How?”
“He woke up.”
I froze.
Samuel’s voice softened.
“Four days before his death, your father had a period of unusual clarity. You had gone home to shower.”
I remembered.
I had hated leaving.
Dad insisted.
He told me I smelled like hospital coffee and needed real sleep.
“What happened?”
“He called me.”
Samuel took out his phone.
“He asked me to come immediately.”
“You visited him?”
“At 1:40 in the morning.”
My eyes widened.
“I never knew.”
“He asked me not to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed you would confront Julian.”
“He was right.”
A sad smile passed across Samuel’s face.
“He knew.”
Samuel explained that when he arrived, Dad had shown him a document a nurse accidentally left inside a folder.
The replacement power of attorney.
Dad denied signing it.
He also said he had never authorized Julian to control his medical decisions.
“So you called the police?”
“Your father refused.”
“Why?”
Samuel was silent.
I understood before he answered.
“He was protecting Julian.”
“Yes.”
Anger rose inside me.
Even dying, Dad had still been rescuing him.
“He could have stopped this.”
“He believed he was stopping something larger.”
“What could be larger than someone forging legal documents?”
Samuel pointed toward the final page in the folder.
It was an email.
From Dad.
To Samuel.
The subject line read:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS BEFORE MONDAY.
I read it.
Samuel—
Do not accuse Julian yet.
The forged authority is connected to the missing corporate funds.
I believe the purpose is not simply access to my accounts.
Someone needs me legally incapacitated before a property transaction closes.
I have delayed the transaction.
Do not tell Elena until the funeral.
She will protect me instead of protecting herself.
R.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“What transaction?”
Samuel shook his head.
“I didn’t know.”
“Dad didn’t tell you?”
“He said the answer was in another folder.”
I looked at the safe.
Folder Three.
Before I could touch it, headlights swept across the study windows.
A vehicle pulled into the circular driveway.
Samuel stood.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
The house was nearly empty.
My aunt had gone home.
My cousins had left.
The investigators had departed twenty minutes earlier after copying several documents.
I moved toward the curtain.
A black SUV sat near the front steps.
My pulse accelerated.
The driver’s door opened.
Serena stepped out.
Alone.
She looked over both shoulders before running toward the house.
Three seconds later, the doorbell rang.
Samuel and I exchanged a glance.
I went downstairs.
When I opened the front door, Serena pushed past me.
“Lock it.”
“What?”
“Lock the door, Elena.”
Her expensive coat was thrown over funeral clothes.
Her hair, usually perfect, was loose.
Her hands were shaking.
I closed the door.
“Where is Julian?”
“I don’t know.”
“You left with him.”
“I drove away with him. Then he made me stop at a gas station and got into Raymond’s car.”
Samuel appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
Serena saw him.
“Good. You need to hear this too.”
I crossed my arms.
“You have thirty seconds before I call the investigators back.”
She laughed nervously.
“You think the stolen money is the worst thing Julian did?”
“What did he do?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
For the first time since I had known Serena, I could not tell whether they were real.
“He didn’t start this.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
She looked toward the staircase.
“The night your father was admitted to the hospital, Julian came home at two in the morning.”
I waited.
“He was drunk. He kept saying they were running out of time.”
“Who is they?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Raymond?”
“I thought so.”
Samuel watched silently.
Serena continued.
“Julian had documents with him. Property records. Maps. Something about land near Route 18.”
My mind clicked.
Dad owned almost eighty acres near Route 18.
An old distribution property.
Mostly unused.
“What about it?”
“Julian said if your father signed before Monday, everyone would be rich.”
I looked at Samuel.
“Was Dad selling the property?”
“Not through me.”
Serena reached into her handbag.
“I found this in Julian’s office three months ago.”
She handed me a folded photocopy.
It showed a parcel map.
Dad’s land was outlined in red.
Beside it was a purchase offer.
Twenty-seven million dollars.
I stared at the number.
“That property isn’t worth this.”
“It wasn’t,” Serena said.
“Wasn’t?”
She swallowed.
“Not until the state transportation plan changed.”
Samuel took the page.
His expression shifted.
“When was this offer made?”
“Six months ago.”
“And who made it?”
Serena pointed to the bottom.
A company called Hawthorne Development Partners.
Samuel went still.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Hawthorne Development doesn’t exist anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“It dissolved three years ago.”
Serena whispered, “Then someone brought it back.”
Samuel shook his head.
“No. Someone used the name.”
A sound came from outside.
A car door.
Serena’s head snapped toward the front window.
“No.”
“What?”
She backed away.
“He found me.”
Headlights flooded the foyer.
A truck stopped outside.
Then another vehicle pulled behind it.
I recognized the first truck.
Julian.
Samuel took out his phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
Serena grabbed my arm.
“Elena, there’s something else.”
Julian pounded on the front door.
“SERENA!”
She flinched.
“Elena, listen to me.”
Another pounding удар shook the door.
“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”
I held Serena’s wrist.
“What else?”
She looked straight into my eyes.
“The forged signature on that property agreement…”
My heart started hammering.
“What about it?”
“It wasn’t Julian who signed your father’s name.”
The pounding stopped.
The silence became worse.
“Then who did?”
May you like
Serena whispered one name.
“Raymond.”
