Chapter 4 - A Signature I Didn't Write

I held the paper against the kitchen light. The signature looked enough like mine to fool a stranger. It even had the loop on the T that Mom taught me in third grade.

But whoever copied it had missed one thing: I'd stopped using my middle initial years ago.

"This is forged."

Dad reached for the notice. I pulled it away.

"Tessa, don't accuse anybody until—"

"Until what? Until a wrecking crew shows up?"

Corinne scoffed. "You probably signed something on your last visit and forgot."

"I wasn't here three days ago. I got in yesterday."

Grandma held out her hand. "Give me that, Tess. We'll make copies."

"You can't just steal business paperwork," Corinne warned.

"It's addressed to my granddaughter."

Dad sank into a kitchen chair. In the ten minutes since he'd arrived, he'd somehow grown older.

"The buyer said he could take over the debts," he whispered. "That's all I was trying to do."

"What debts?" I asked.

Corinne spoke before he could. "Payroll, taxes, equipment. Adult problems."

"Stop answering for him."

That surprised both of them. I had spent years letting Corinne interrupt me because confronting her made Dad miserable. Right then, I understood what that bargain had cost.

"Dad, exactly how much do we owe?"

"I need to check."

"You run the bakery."

"I said I need to check."

Grandma took my arm. "We're leaving. Bring your phone and the notice."

Corinne blocked the hallway. "She can't take company documents."

"Watch me," Grandma said.

Outside, the cold hit like a slap. The stars were sharp above the driveway. Grandma walked straight to her old blue Subaru and opened the passenger door.

"You already knew the money was missing," I said as I got in.

"I knew the numbers didn't make sense. I didn't know he'd let it get this far."

She started the engine. As we backed out, my phone vibrated with a new email from an address I didn't recognize.

May you like

Billionaire’s Wife Kicked a Waitress in Front of 300 Elites—One Slap Exp...

The billionaire’s wife tried to kick a waitress in the face in front of 300 wealthy guests. But seconds later, she whispered three...

My Mother Grabbed My Wife by the Hair Over Cold Soup—But What My Father...

My mother grabbed my wife by the hair over a bowl of cold soup. And the most shameful part? For one terrible second, I almost defe...

My Parents Kicked My 6-Year-Old Daughter and Me Out on Christmas—Then I...

My mother kicked my six-year-old daughter out of Christmas dinner, never realizing I was the only reason she still had a house to...

The subject line read: YOU NEED TO SEE WHAT'S IN THE SAFE.

There was one attachment, a photograph of my mother's signature on a loan guarantee dated five years after her funeral.