Chapter 3 - THE FORGED SIGNATURE
“Paul Vance?” I whispered, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.
Adrian looked at me, noticing the sudden terror in my eyes. “You know him?”
“He’s my ex-husband,” I said, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “He hasn't been in our lives for ten years. He… he’s not a student. He’s a gambler. A grifter.”
Victoria took a frantic step backward, her diamond heels clicking against the marble floor. “Adrian, I can explain! It’s a coincidence. There must be another Paul Vance. He submitted an application for a continuing education grant in physical therapy!”
“Really?” Adrian’s voice dripped with icy sarcasm. He didn't yell. He didn't have to. The sheer weight of his presence was enough to make Victoria shrink. “You bypassed the entire board of directors to wire forty thousand dollars to a forty-five-year-old man for a physical therapy grant out of a nursing fund for single mothers?”
“He had references!” Victoria cried, looking around the room, realizing the wealthy guests were now whispering and pointing.
Adrian ignored her. He looked at me, his expression softening just a fraction, but the protective intensity remained. “Margaret. Come with me to my study. Now.”
He didn't wait for Victoria. He placed a warm, firm hand on the small of my back and guided me away from the glittering ballroom, away from the staring eyes, and down a long, quiet, mahogany-paneled hallway.
His private study was massive, lined with leather-bound books and smelling of cedar and expensive scotch. He locked the heavy double doors behind us, shutting out the noise of the gala.
“Sit,” he ordered gently, pointing to a plush leather armchair.
I sank into it, my legs trembling too much to support me. My mind was racing. Paul. After ten years of peace, after changing my locks, changing my number, and scrubbing floors to build a safe life for Lily, his shadow had fallen over us again.
Adrian walked behind his massive oak desk, pulled open a locked drawer, and retrieved a thick manila folder. He threw it onto the desk.
“This is the physical file for this year’s scholarship applicants,” Adrian said, his dark eyes locked on mine. “Victoria handles the day-to-day, but I keep copies of the finalists. I remember your essay, Margaret. You wrote about watching your father die in a cramped hospital room, and how a nurse named Sarah stayed past her shift just to hold his hand.”
Tears spilled over my lashes. “Yes.”
Adrian opened the folder. He pulled out a stapled packet of papers and slid it across the desk toward me. “Read the name at the top.”
I looked down. The name printed in bold black ink was PAUL VANCE.
I read the first paragraph. My breath hitched. It was my essay. Word for word. The only difference was that my father’s name had been changed, and the pronouns were altered. Paul had stolen my life story, my pain, my deeply personal letter, and submitted it as his own.
“He stole it,” I choked out, covering my mouth. “But how? I mailed my application directly to the foundation.”
“Victoria intercepts the mail,” Adrian said grimly. “But that’s not the worst part, Margaret. Look at the last page. Look at the authorization signature.”
I flipped to the back of the packet. There, at the bottom of the approval form, was a sweeping, elegant signature authorizing the immediate transfer of the forty thousand dollars.
My blood ran cold.
“That’s…” I squinted at the ink. “That’s your mother’s signature. Elena Moretti.”
Adrian stood perfectly still. “My mother has been dead for two years.”
I stared at the looping ‘E’ and the sharp ‘M’. I had spent a decade married to a man who made his living forging checks and faking documents. I knew the specific, jerky hesitation marks Paul left behind when he tried to mimic someone else’s handwriting. He always pressed too hard on the downstrokes.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, looking up at him, my heart hammering. “That is not your mother’s signature. That is Paul’s handwriting. He forged her name.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. The implication was massive. For Paul to forge Elena’s signature on an internal foundation document, someone inside the house had to have given him the blank form.
Victoria.
Before Adrian could speak, my cell phone vibrated violently in my apron pocket. The harsh buzzing cut through the heavy silence of the study.
I pulled it out. The screen read: LILY - HOME.
“Answer it,” Adrian commanded quietly.
I pressed the phone to my ear. “Lily? Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Mom!” Lily’s voice was a terrified, breathy whisper. In the background, I could hear the sound of wood splintering and glass shattering. “Mom, don't come home! He’s here! Dad is here, and he has men with him!”
A cold, primal terror seized my chest.
“Lily, hide!” I screamed into the phone. “Get in the bathroom and lock the door!”
“He’s breaking down the bedroom door, Mom—”
May you like
The line went dead with a sharp click.
I dropped the phone. “My daughter. He’s at my apartment. He has my daughter.”
