Chapter 6: My Mother’s Signature
For several seconds, I couldn't understand the words.
My mother.
The woman who had cried beside my hospital bed after my transfer.
The woman who had told me she believed in me.
The woman who had called me every Sunday for months.
The woman who had begged me to stop fighting.
My mother.
Madison stared at Jason.
“You're lying.””
Jason shook his head.
“I wish I were.””
Another bullet struck the metal wall.
Grant motioned for us to stay low.
“Can you walk?””
Jason nodded.
“Probably.””
“That isn't reassuring.””
“It wasn't meant to be.””
I looked at the letter again.
My father's handwriting.
His confession.
His final warning.
Then I looked at the signature on the original authorization.
Something about it suddenly bothered me.
I pulled the document from my briefcase.
The forged signature was almost perfect.
Almost.
I had spent years staring at it.
There had always been one tiny difference.
My mother knew it too.
She had been the person who taught me how to sign my name when I was seven.
She knew exactly how my pen moved.
Exactly how I formed the R.
Exactly how I crossed the final stroke.
She could reproduce it.
I whispered, “Why?””
Jason looked at me.
“Because your father asked her.””
“For what?””
“To make you disappear.””
My throat tightened.
“What does that mean?””
Jason closed his eyes.
“She believed your career was putting the family at risk.””
“What risk?””
He looked at Madison.
“Your father and Whitmore were moving money through defense contracts.””
Madison shook her head.
“No.””
“They used shell companies.””
“No.””
“Daniel Price found the records.””
“And my mother?””
“She found out too.””
I stared at him.
“She helped them?””
Jason nodded.
“Your mother didn't think she was helping criminals. She thought she was preventing a scandal.””
“That doesn't make sense.””
“She believed your father when he told her the money was temporary. She believed Whitmore when he promised everything would be corrected.””
I laughed bitterly.
“And when they needed someone to blame?””
Jason looked at me.
“They chose you.””
The gunfire outside stopped.
Grant slowly raised his head.
“Wait.””
We listened.
No footsteps.
No engine.
Nothing.
Grant moved toward the door.
“Stay here.””
I stopped him.
“Whoever shot Jason wanted the file.””
Grant looked at the scattered documents.
“They didn't get it.””
I held up the letter.
“They know we're here.””
He nodded.
“Then we move now.””
We helped Jason to his feet.
He winced.
Madison put his arm over her shoulder.
“You're heavier than you look.””
Jason managed a weak smile.
“Marriage finally paying off.””
She glared at him.
“Don't joke.””
“Sorry.””
We moved through the rear exit.
A narrow alley led behind the storage facility.
Grant contacted local authorities.
Within minutes, sirens approached.
Jason was taken to a waiting military vehicle for medical treatment.
Before he was loaded inside, he grabbed my hand.
“Rachel.””
I looked at him.
“Your mother will deny everything.””
“I know.””
“She'll say she was protecting you.””
“I know.””
“She'll cry.””
I stared at him.
“And you?””
He looked exhausted.
“I'll testify.””
I hadn't expected that.
“You'll testify against Whitmore?””
“Against everyone.””
“Even my father?””
“Yes.””
“Even my mother?””
Jason nodded.
“If that's what it takes.””
The vehicle doors closed.
I stood beside Madison.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, she whispered, “We have to call Mom.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
“To ask her.””
“No.””
“Rachel—”
“If she did this, she deserves to know that we know.””
Madison stared at me.
I pulled out my phone.
I called.
Mom answered on the third ring.
“Rachel?””
Her voice was warm.
Normal.
Almost painfully normal.
“Where are you?””
“Home.””
“Is Dad with you?””
A pause.
“Yes.””
I looked at Madison.
She was watching me.
“Mom, I need to ask you something.””
“What?””
“Do you remember Daniel Price?””
Silence.
Not even breathing.
Then she said, “Why are you asking about him?””
“Because I found the file.””
Another pause.
“What file?””
“The one Dad kept.””
Her voice changed.
“Rachel, listen to me.””
“No.””
“You need to come home.””
“Why?””
“Because you're in danger.””
I looked toward the road.
“From whom?””
“Everyone.””
My heart pounded.
“Did you forge my signature?””
Silence.
Longer this time.
Then my mother whispered:
“I was trying to save you.””
Madison covered her mouth.
I closed my eyes.
“You did it.””
“I didn't know what they would do.””
“You knew enough.””
“I thought they would leave you alone.””
“They destroyed my career.””
“I know.””
“You let me believe I had ruined my own life.””
“I know.””
“You watched me lose everything.””
My mother's voice broke.
“I was your mother.””
“You were supposed to protect me.””
“I thought I was.””
I turned away.
“Where is Dad?””
“He's gone.””
“What?””
“He left this morning.””
“Where?””
“I don't know.””
“Mom.””
“I swear.””
I heard something in the background.
A door.
Then a man's voice.
My mother gasped.
“Who's there?””
I straightened.
“Mom?””
She whispered something.
Then the call went dead.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Madison stared at me.
“What happened?””
“Someone came into the house.””
We got into the military vehicle.
Grant was already on the radio.
“Can you trace the call?””
“Working on it.””
I opened the letter again.
My father's final sentence stared back at me.
*The person who forged your signature was your mother.*
But now another thought hit me.
If my mother had forged the signature, why had she waited six years to admit it?
And why had she sounded terrified when someone entered the house?
We arrived at my parents' home less than an hour later.
The front door was open.
The house was silent.
Madison ran inside.
“Mom!””
No answer.
The living room looked untouched.
Then we heard a crash upstairs.
Grant raised his weapon.
“Stay behind me.””
We climbed the stairs.
At the end of the hallway, my mother's bedroom door stood open.
Inside, drawers had been pulled out.
Clothes covered the floor.
A jewelry box lay smashed beside the bed.
Madison screamed.
I looked toward the window.
The curtains moved in the wind.
Someone had escaped through it.
Then I noticed something on the floor.
A photograph.
I picked it up.
It showed my mother standing beside General Whitmore.
But the date printed beneath it was impossible.
It had been taken twenty-three years ago.
Long before Jason.
Long before Daniel Price.
Long before my military career.
On the back, someone had written:
*She didn't join them.*
I turned the photograph over again.
There was more writing beneath the first sentence.
*She created them.*
Madison read it over my shoulder.
Her face went pale.
Then a phone began ringing from inside my mother's closet.
We opened the door.
A small burner phone sat beneath a stack of blankets.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then my mother's voice whispered:
“Rachel, if you want to know why I forged your signature…”
A man's voice suddenly cut in.
“Don't tell her.””
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Madison whispered, “Who was that?””
I looked at the dark doorway behind us.
“I don't know.””
Then the burner phone received a message.
One photograph.
My father.
Standing inside an airport terminal.
Beside him was General Whitmore.
And between them was a woman I had never seen before.
Except I had.
She was wearing my mother's old military uniform.
May you like
And beneath the photograph were four words:
*Your mother wasn't the beginning.*
