Chapter 8 - My Name in Someone Else’s Handwriting
I zoomed in until the signature filled half the screen.
Emily Carter.
It looked like mine if you didn’t know mine well.
The E curved too cleanly.
The t was crossed too high.
And I always ended my last name with a hard upward stroke.
This one fell flat.
I called the law firm immediately.
A man answered despite the hour difference.
“Bennett and Klein.”
“This is Emily Carter. I received an email from Mr. Klein.”
“One moment.”
Forty seconds later, a tired but alert voice came on.
“Ms. Carter, this is David Klein.”
“I didn’t sign this.”
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
“The March authorization?”
“Yes.”
“We had concerns.”
“You had concerns and nobody called me?”
“The document did not come through our office. We only received a copy recently when your grandmother requested a full accounting.”
I stood.
“Where did it come from?”
“The trustee’s records.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
I paced the room.
“What does it authorize?”
“A reallocation and temporary encumbrance against beneficiary interests.”
“In English.”
“It allowed trust assets tied to your future distribution to secure a private loan.”
I stopped walking.
“Dad said he moved money into his company.”
“That appears consistent with part of the accounting.”
“Part?”
Mr. Klein was silent for half a beat.
“There were two transactions.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was the second?”
“One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars transferred to an entity called VCS Holdings.”
I knew the initials immediately.
Vanessa Claire Sterling.
My sister had married for fourteen months at twenty-four, kept the last name on one LLC, and returned to Carter socially after the divorce.
“What is VCS Holdings?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
I could.
Or at least I could guess.
Vanessa had launched a lifestyle brand last spring.
Home candles, silk robes, “curated living.”
The company had disappeared six months later.
Her Instagram never mentioned it again.
“Can my father legally sign for me?”
“No.”
“Can he legally use a forged authorization?”
“No.”
The answer was simple.
Terrifyingly simple.
I looked back at the document.
“Who witnessed the signature?”
Mr. Klein hesitated.
“Your mother.”
A cold pressure spread through my chest.
Of course.
Of course it was both of them.
My phone lit up with a message from Dad.
DAD: We need to talk before you make this worse.
I showed the screen to no one.
Then another message arrived.
VANESSA: If you destroy Dad’s company over this, I will never forgive you.
I stared at it.
Not if you accuse him unfairly.
Not if you misunderstand.
If you destroy Dad’s company over this.
She knew.
I typed one sentence.
ME: How long have you known my signature was fake?
The typing bubble appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
May you like
Then Vanessa called.
And when I answered, she was crying.
