Chapter 11 - The Signature in the Wrong Ink

Elias read the instruction aloud. His voice went flat on the last word.

"Shut the gate with him inside."

For a moment nobody spoke. Then Ortiz held out her hand.

"Let me see that paper."

She examined the corners, the folds, the fresh adhesive on the envelope. "This was put here recently. The rest of the box has dust along the edges. This doesn't."

"My father signs everything in black ink," Elias said. "This is blue."

"People change pens," Ortiz replied. "We need the original compared with known signatures before drawing conclusions."

The note might be a confession or a trap. The uncertainty was worse than either answer. I wanted somebody to blame for the six years my father had been gone, but I wasn't going to let another forged sheet destroy a family simply because I was angry.

A uniformed officer entered with June. She carried a plastic grocery bag full of cleaning cloths.

"I know I shouldn't have taken these," June said. "But I was told to scrub the study after dinner. I thought the cloth might matter when I heard about Harper."

One was stained with the same dark red wine I'd swallowed. Another bore faint streaks of blue ink. Ortiz placed them in separate evidence bags.

"Who asked you to clean?" she said.

"Miss Voss. Said the boss wanted the room spotless for a meeting. I told her nobody was allowed in there, but she had Mr. Wren's keys."

"Which Mr. Wren?" Elias asked.

"Your dad's. She'd taken them from his coat."

Elias rubbed his face. "My father might have hidden the old reports. I know that. But somebody wants me to think he ordered my murder tonight."

We left the study to find Everett standing in the hallway, two security officers behind him. He didn't ask about the letter. He asked what we'd removed from the safe.

Ortiz showed her badge. "Sir, I need you to come with us for an interview."

Everett looked at the sealed folders in her colleague's hands. For the first time, he seemed old.

"Those documents were supposed to stay buried," he said.

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...

Then he looked straight at me.

"Your father wasn't the man who made the decision. I was."