Chapter 4 - The Signature
The envelope from Ava’s backpack contained three pieces of paper.
The first was a photocopy of a trust distribution form.
The second was a bank authorization.
The third was a handwritten note.
Logan recognized his name immediately.
Logan Mercer.
The signature looked convincing.
It was also fake.
He knew because the person who had copied it had reproduced an old habit he had stopped years ago—the long tail beneath the final R.
“How did Nora get these?”
“Miriam kept records,” Brianna said.
They sat in Logan’s office shortly after midnight.
Ava remained with his mother.
The party decorations were still downstairs.
That absurd normality made everything worse.
Logan held up the authorization.
“This says I approved a $240,000 transfer from Hale Descendants Trust to Mercer Restoration LLC.”
“Yes.”
“My company.”
“Yes.”
“My company never received this money.”
“I know.”
“Then where did it go?”
“A second account.”
“In my company’s name?”
Brianna nodded.
“Opened by whom?”
“My father’s accountant.”
“Using my identity?”
“Documents connected to your business.”
Logan stared at her.
“How?”
Brianna looked away.
The answer arrived before she gave it.
“You gave him the documents.”
“Three years ago.”
“What documents?”
“Tax filings. Your operating agreement. Copies of your driver’s license.”
Logan stood so quickly his chair hit the wall.
“You gave Richard everything he needed to impersonate me?”
“He said the bank required them because Hale House renovations were partially funded through trust distributions.”
“Did you know he was creating another account?”
“No.”
“Did you find out later?”
Brianna did not answer.
“Brianna.”
“Last year.”
Logan laughed once.
There was nothing humorous in it.
“And you stayed quiet.”
“My father said he was replacing the funds.”
“Did he?”
“Some.”
“How much is missing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I stopped asking.”
“That may be the worst thing you’ve said tonight.”
Brianna began crying again.
Logan felt almost nothing.
Too much had broken too quickly.
“When Nora showed up, what did she want?”
“To meet me.”
“That’s all?”
“At first.”
“And then?”
“She showed me the documents.”
“Miriam left them to her.”
“Yes.”
“She knows money was stolen.”
“She knows something was wrong.”
“Does she know you knew?”
Brianna’s silence answered.
Logan looked toward the ceiling.
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was in the attic earlier.”
“You checked?”
“Before the party.”
“And afterward?”
“No.”
They ran upstairs.
This time Brianna removed a small brass key from the lining of her purse.
Logan stared at it.
“You didn’t know where the key was?”
“I lied.”
She inserted it into the paneled wall.
A soft click.
Part of the molding released.
The panel opened inward.
Beyond it was not a dark cavity.
It was a room.
Small but comfortable.
A single bed.
A lamp.
A desk.
A narrow bathroom.
A second door stood open at the far end.
Logan crossed the room.
The bed was unmade.
A backpack sat beneath the desk.
Two empty water bottles stood beside a plate.
But Nora was gone.
Brianna rushed to the other door.
It opened into a forgotten service staircase leading toward the rear kitchen corridor.
“She left.”
Logan noticed something on the pillow.
A photograph.
He picked it up.
It showed a younger Brianna holding a newborn baby.
She was crying.
On the back, someone had written:
You loved her before they taught you to be afraid of her. — Miriam
Brianna sat on the bed.
For the first time that night, Logan saw something beneath her lies.
Grief.
Real grief.
But grief did not erase what she had done.
Logan searched the backpack.
Empty clothes.
A paperback novel.
A charging cable.
No phone.
No wallet.
“Nora took everything important.”
Brianna covered her face.
“She thinks I chose the money.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Logan looked at the forged documents.
“Then prove it.”
Brianna lowered her hands.
“How?”
“Tomorrow morning, we get an attorney who has never worked for your father.”
“My father will know.”
“Good.”
“You don’t understand him.”
“Then help me.”
Brianna’s expression changed.
Not fear now.
Something closer to resignation.
“You think the missing money is the worst part.”
Logan felt his stomach tighten.
“What else?”
“My father didn’t just use your company.”
May you like
She looked toward the photograph.
“He used Nora too.”
