Chapter 6 - The Signature
“Who?” I asked.
Natalie said nothing.
“Who forged my signature?”
“My mother says it wasn’t supposed to be filed.”
For a few seconds, I could hear only the hum of Dad’s refrigerator.
“What does that mean?”
“She said it was a draft.”
“A notarized draft?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know enough to be terrified of a blue folder.”
Natalie took a shaky breath.
“Meet me at home.”
“No.”
“Grant, please.”
“Bring whatever you took from Dad’s house to Priya’s office.”
“I told you, I didn’t take anything.”
“Then you won’t mind showing up empty-handed.”
She hung up again.
Priya’s office occupied the second floor of a converted Victorian near the courthouse. Natalie arrived forty minutes later.
She looked exhausted.
No folder.
No bag.
She sat across from us and wrapped both hands around a paper cup of water.
“My mother learned about the Bennett trust when her firm was asked to do title research for Ashford Renewal Partners,” she said.
“When?” I asked.
“About a year and a half ago.”
“Right when the adoption file was opened.”
She nodded.
“Did you know before we married?”
Her head snapped up.
“No. God, no.”
I believed the speed of that answer.
I did not know if I believed anything else.
“She called me one night and asked whether Raymond had ever said you were adopted. I laughed at her. I thought she had the wrong Grant Mercer.”
“And then?”
“She showed me the trust summary.”
“So you learned I might own land worth millions and kept it from me.”
“I thought it would become ours.”
The sentence landed between us.
Priya did not move.
I stared at my wife.
“Ours?”
Natalie’s face crumpled.
“That came out wrong.”
“No. I think it came out exactly right.”
She leaned forward.
“My mother said the title was messy. She said if you challenged the trust, you could spend years in court and still lose. Ashford offered money to make it go away.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
“The offer in Dad’s basement was $2.6 million.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
That reaction looked real.
Priya slid the copy toward her.
Natalie read it.
Her hand began to shake.
“My mother told me two-fifty.”
“So where did the rest go?” I asked.
Natalie whispered, “I don’t know.”
Then Priya asked the question that changed the room.
“Mrs. Mercer, did your mother ever ask you for a sample of Grant’s signature?”
Natalie went completely still.
I already knew the answer.
Six months earlier, she had asked me to sign three blank Christmas cards because she was running late.
One had disappeared.
Natalie looked at me and started to cry.
“I gave her one.”
Priya leaned back.
Before any of us could speak, her receptionist knocked and entered.
“There’s a man downstairs asking for Grant Mercer.”
“Who?”
“He says his name is Leonard Shaw.”
Natalie stood so fast her chair hit the wall.
May you like
“No,” she said. “Do not let him up here.”
