Chapter 5 - The Signature"I never signed a transfer deed," I told the accountant over speakerphone.

His name was Daniel Cho, and he had prepared Mom's taxes for fifteen years. "That's why I contacted Alex. Your signature doesn't match the one on the trust paperwork."

"Who owns the building now?"

Daniel hesitated. "A limited liability company called North Cedar Holdings."

Alex stared at the wall. "Trent's father uses North Cedar for his construction deals."

I suddenly understood why Richard had watched my phone instead of my face. He wasn't only afraid of a domestic violence report. He was afraid of what police might find if they started asking questions.

"How much is the property worth?" I asked.

"The last independent appraisal put it near nine hundred thousand dollars."

I swallowed hard. Trent told me it barely covered taxes.

Daniel said the deed had been notarized by someone named Marla Keene. A search of her license history showed it had expired before the signing date. That wasn't proof of forgery by itself, but it was a door opening onto a much larger room.

An unfamiliar number lit my phone. I almost ignored it, then answered with Dana beside me.

"Emily?" Nicole's voice shook. "Please don't hang up."

"What do you want?"

"I didn't know they were taking your building. They said you were signing the business over voluntarily."

Alex held out his hand, asking whether I wanted him to record the call. I nodded.

"Who said?" I asked.

"Dad. Trent. Mom knew too."

"And you filmed me crying on the floor."

Silence.

"Nicole?"

"I filmed it because Trent told me to," she whispered. "He said he needed proof you were unstable."

My skin went cold. "Proof for what?"

"To take the baby when she's born."

Alex straightened. Nicole began sobbing.

"There's a folder," she said. "In Dad's study. It's labeled EMILY — CUSTODY. They already picked a lawyer. They already wrote your story for you."

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Then she whispered, "Someone's coming," and the call ended.

I went back over the day of the supposed signing. I had been at a prenatal appointment, sitting beside a woman who told me she was expecting twins. I'd texted Trent a photograph of the clinic's waiting room because he had accused me of lying about where I was. That text had a timestamp. The nurse's visit summary had another. For the first time, the ordinary records of my day looked like proof I could use, not excuses I had to supply.