“Where’s the box?”
“In the wardrobe,” he whispered.
I found it under a folded blanket. Its lid was open. Louis’s death certificate lay across the marriage certificate, and the house papers had been pulled from their envelope.
A second envelope, cream-colored and sealed with old brown tape, remained underneath. Louis had written my name on it years ago. I had put it away after his death because even his handwriting could undo me.
Now someone had written something else across the house documents in bright pink ink.
SECURITY ADDRESS.
“What is this?”
Sabine glanced at Darien.
“It was supposed to make things easier.”
There was a folder on the desk. I opened it.
The first page showed my address. The next showed a loan amount large enough to make the room tilt. Beneath it was my name, shaped almost correctly by someone else’s hand.
Almost.
I always joined the last two letters.
“Have you borrowed against my house?”
“Nothing has happened yet,” Sabine said quickly. “The appointment is tomorrow.”
Darien sat on the edge of the bed.
I turned another page.
A document gave Sabine authority to act for me. It carried another imitation of my signature.
“You signed for me.”
“You wouldn’t have understood the structure.”
The words were so smooth that, for a moment, I could not find my own.
Then I took my telephone from my coat.
Sabine stepped forward. “Who are you calling?”
“My solicitor.”
“It’s nearly six.”
“He has a message service.”
Darien stared at the papers.
I left a message for Mr. Voss, reading the lender’s name and application number carefully. My voice steadied as I spoke. I asked for an urgent return call and said, plainly, that I had signed none of it.
Sabine folded her arms.
“You’re turning a family problem into something ugly.”
I looked at the two pieces of my wedding photograph on the desk.
“No,” I said. “I’m finally looking at it.”
While I photographed the documents, Darien went to the garage. He returned with my mother’s quilt held against his chest.
He stopped in the doorway.
“Where should I put it?”
I nearly told him.
Instead, I took it from him myself.
CHAPTER 3 – The Signature
Martha answered on the second ring.
“Did you get home safely?”
I pressed the quilt to my mouth. For fifteen days, I had measured her medicine, changed her sheets, and steadied her along the hallway. Hearing her voice nearly brought me to the floor.
“Could you stay on the telephone with me?”
Her breathing changed.
“Yes. Put me somewhere I can hear.”
I set the phone on the windowsill.
Sabine gave a short, disgusted laugh, but Martha said nothing. The quiet presence of another person made the room feel less sealed.
Mr. Voss returned my call eleven minutes later.
I took it downstairs, carrying the folder and the box. At the kitchen table where Darien had done his homework, I described the false signatures.
He asked whether I had ever given Sabine financial authority.
“No.”
Whether I owned the house alone.
“Yes.”
Whether I felt safe remaining there.
I looked toward the stairs.
“I don’t know yet.”
He told me to keep the papers, send him copies, and avoid signing anything. He would notify the lender’s fraud department immediately. He also told me to report the suspected forgery to the police.
When the call ended, Darien stood in the kitchen doorway.
“I thought it was a business loan.”
“What business?”
“Her design company. She has debts from the showroom.”
