Chapter 2 - My Signature
I enlarged the photograph.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The signature looked like mine.
Not vaguely.
Not approximately.
Mine.
The loops.
The slant.
Even the strange little break in the V that I had developed years ago from signing hundreds of consulting documents.
Micah took the phone.
“You didn’t sign this?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“I would remember extending Dalia’s lease for another eighteen months.”
My father called.
This time I answered.
“Dad.”
His voice was unusually tight.
“Did you see what I sent?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign it?”
“No.”
He exhaled.
I heard a door shut on his end.
“Your mother said you did.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“I didn’t.”
“She said Dalia needed another guarantor period because the building changed management.”
“I know nothing about that.”
Dad went silent.
Then he spoke more quietly.
“Vera, your mother brought me the document.”
That sentence hurt in a completely different way.
“Why did she have it?”
“She said you emailed it.”
“I didn’t.”
Micah was standing beside me now.
He mouthed one word.
Forgery.
I didn’t say it.
Not yet.
“Dad, where did you get the copy?”
“The landlord sent it to me.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because Dalia listed me as emergency financial contact.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
“What does the amendment say?”
“That if she defaults, the guarantor remains responsible through the renewal period.”
“How much?”
“Her rent went up.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight hundred a month.”
I opened my eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“It includes fees.”
Twenty-eight hundred dollars.
Eighteen months.
More than fifty thousand dollars in potential liability.
Micah took the phone gently from my hand and placed it on speaker.
“Mr. Holt, this is Micah.”
“Hi, Micah.”
“Did the landlord send any verification record with the document?”
“What do you mean?”
“IP address.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“Electronic signature timestamp. Email source. Anything.”
Dad shuffled papers.
“Hold on.”
I heard him moving.
Then silence.
Then—
“Yes.”
My pulse changed.
“There’s an email address.”
“What address?”
Dad read it.
It looked like mine.
But one letter was different.
My actual email ended in consulting.com.
The address on the document ended in consultlng.com.
An lowercase L replacing an I.
Almost invisible.
Micah looked at me.
“That was deliberate.”
I already knew.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Do not contact Mom yet.”
He hesitated.
“Vera—”
“Please.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone forged this, I want to know who did it before they have time to erase anything.”
My father didn’t answer.
Then he said something I had never expected.
“I agree.”
After the call, Micah immediately opened his laptop.
I stood beside him.
“You know what bothers me?”
“What?”
“Dalia didn’t seem scared about the rent.”
“She seemed furious.”
“Exactly.”
I replayed the hallway conversation.
She had said I had four days.
Not that she had four days.
Almost like she believed the obligation was already legally mine.
Micah looked at the fake email.
“Someone planned this before your wedding.”
I felt the blood leave my face.
“How long before?”
He checked the document date.
June 17.
Nearly two months before my wedding.
Nearly six weeks before Dalia asked me to buy her another car.
Which meant this hadn’t started with the wedding.
The wedding had only exposed it.
My phone rang again.
Mom.
I let it ring.
Then she texted.
Your father is overreacting.
My heart stopped.
Micah saw my expression.
“What?”
I showed him.
Dad had promised not to contact her.
Which meant someone else had already warned her.
Another message appeared.
It was from Dalia.
You really want to play this game?
Then another.
Because I have receipts too.
And beneath it was a photograph.
A screenshot of a bank transfer.
From my business account.
To Dalia.
$18,500.
The date was six months earlier.
May you like
There was only one problem.
I had never made that transfer.
