Chapter 3 - Six O'Clock Forgery
I met the marina manager, Nora Bennett, in a cramped office smelling of coffee and saltwater. Through the window, I could see Vanessa posing for photographs. A photographer kept lifting one finger, telling the crowd to hold for just one more shot.
Nora laid two pages on the desk. “This came to our events inbox at 6:03 a.m.”
The document was titled AUTHORIZATION TO REINSTATE CHARTER. At the bottom was my name, typed in an imitation of my signature. Beneath it appeared a phone number I had never used.
I laughed once, without humor. “That's not mine.”
“We suspected as much,” Nora said. “The instructions asked us not to contact your existing number because you'd supposedly lost your phone.”
“Did you reinstate it?”
“No. We follow verified contact procedures, especially on a contract this size.”
I took a photograph of the page, then stopped. “May I have a copy for my attorney?”
“You can have the records that concern your account. We'll preserve the original email.”
Back on the dock, Vanessa was demanding answers while Grant kept looking at his phone. Mom caught sight of me through the office window and slapped her palm against the glass.
“She's hiding in there!” she yelled.
I walked out with my garment bag. The navy dress I'd chosen for my sister's celebration felt absurdly heavy in my hand.
“Tell them it's a mistake,” Vanessa ordered.
“It isn't.”
“You promised me this day!”
“I promised to help you celebrate. I didn't promise to be your invisible bank.”
Grant lowered his voice. “You're making a family issue into a business issue.”
“No,” I said. “Whoever sent a fake authorization did that.”
For half a second, his face lost color. Then he smiled. “You should be careful accusing people of crimes.”
“I didn't accuse anyone. I said a document was fake.”
Aunt Lorraine, standing close enough to hear, folded her arms. “Vanessa told us Evelyn refused to help with the party.”
My sister opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
I showed Lorraine the original booking confirmation on my phone. My name. My deposit. My credit card. Vanessa lunged to grab it, and I stepped away.
“This isn't your story to tell!” she snapped.
“Then stop telling it wrong.”
A deep voice interrupted us. “Evelyn?”
May you like
It was Dad. He stood a few feet away, holding a printed email with both hands. He looked older than he had yesterday.
“Grant sent me this at midnight,” he said. “It says you agreed to cover everything as an engagement gift.”
