Chapter 2: The Signature That Wasn't Supposed to Exist
My father read the letter once.
Then he read it again, more slowly, his eyes moving from one paragraph to the next.
Rebecca stood beside the dining table, gripping the back of a chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“David,” she said, “before you get the wrong idea, I can explain.””
He raised one hand without looking at her.
“Give me a minute.””
I had never heard him speak to Rebecca like that.
Usually, he rushed to calm her down whenever her voice grew sharp. He apologized for things that weren't his fault, bought gifts after arguments, and treated her anger like a storm that everyone else was responsible for surviving.
Now, he seemed not to hear her at all.
Emma had climbed into my chair and was hugging her stuffed rabbit against her chest.
I moved closer to her.
“It's okay,” I whispered.
“Is Rebecca going to hurt you again?””
My throat tightened.
“No. Not tonight.””
Across the table, my father reached the bottom of the letter.
“Where did you get this?”” he asked me.
“I told you. It was beside the photograph.””
“How long has it been there?””
“Since at least two weeks ago.””
He looked at Rebecca.
“You've seen this letter?””
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
My father held up the envelope.
“Then why did you try to take it away from Lily?””
“Because she's been snooping through our private belongings!””
“It's addressed to me.””
“Exactly. To you. Not to her.””
“And yet she found it sitting in the dining room.””
Rebecca spread her hands.
“David, you're letting a fourteen-year-old manipulate you. She's upset about what happened at dinner, so she's looking for something to use against me.””
I wanted to shout that I'd had nothing to do with the letter.
Instead, I watched my father.
He turned to the first page.
At the top, beneath the letterhead of a Richmond law firm, was the name Thomas Avery.
I recognized it from the plaque on the door of the attorney who had helped my father settle my mother's estate.
My father began reading aloud.
“Mr. Bennett, we are writing concerning a recent submission requesting the transfer of three commercial properties currently held by Bennett Construction.””
Rebecca interrupted.
“You asked me to help organize those properties.””
“Did I ask you to transfer them?””
She hesitated.
“I was handling the paperwork.””
“That's not what I asked.””
“I was trying to save you time.””
My father's voice hardened.
“Let me finish reading.””
For the first time, Rebecca didn't answer.
The letter explained that the law firm had received paperwork requesting that three of the company's commercial properties be transferred into a newly formed holding company called Redbridge Holdings LLC.
The submission included an authorization bearing my father's name.
But something was wrong.
The document appeared to authorize more than the administrative access my father had previously granted. The firm's attorney had noticed inconsistencies between the authorization on file and the one accompanying the transfer request.
Rather than process the transfers, he had placed them on hold.
He wanted my father to confirm personally whether he had authorized the transaction.
The last paragraph contained a sentence that made my father's face tighten.
Given the unusual scope of the request, we strongly advise that you review the attached documents privately and contact our office directly before signing or approving any further transactions.
My father lowered the letter.
“Redbridge Holdings,” he said quietly.
“What is that?””
Rebecca lifted her chin.
“An administrative company. It's perfectly normal to create a holding company for property management.””
“Who owns it?””
“That's a technical question.””
“No. It's a simple question.””
She looked toward me.
Then she looked away.
“David, this is exactly why I asked you to let me handle the business paperwork. You don't have the time to understand every little detail.””
My father stared at her.
“You asked me to sign a document three weeks ago.””
“Yes.””
“You said it was a routine authorization so you could communicate with the accountants.””
“And it was.””
“Did it authorize you to transfer company property?””
Rebecca's expression sharpened.
“You signed it, David.””
“That wasn't my question.””
“You trusted me enough to sign it. Now you're acting like I'm a criminal because a lawyer wants to make a fuss over some wording?””
My father glanced back at the letter.
“I don't remember authorizing any transfer of ownership.””
“Then you should check your memory before you accuse your wife of something.””
The words hung in the air.
I saw my father's jaw tighten.
Rebecca had spent years using his grief and exhaustion against him. She knew how to make him doubt himself without appearing to do anything wrong.
But this time, he had the letter in his hands.
And I was standing there, still wearing a sweater stained with the dinner she had thrown at me.
“You threw food in my daughter's face,” he said.
Rebecca stared at him.
“She insulted me!””
“She is fourteen.””
“She has been disrespecting me for months.””
“You threw a plate of food at her.””
“Because she provoked me!””
Emma began to cry again.
I knelt beside her chair.
“It's all right, sweetheart.””
Rebecca pointed at us.
“Look at this! This is what she does. She turns Emma against me, too. She wants to take my own child away from me.””
Emma shook her head violently.
“No! Lily didn't do anything!””
“Emma,” Rebecca snapped.
“Be quiet.””
The little girl's face crumpled.
My father moved toward her.
“Don't speak to her like that.””
Rebecca went completely still.
For three years, she had been the person who decided when conversations ended, whose feelings mattered, and who needed to apologize.
Now, for the first time, my father wasn't asking me to make her comfortable.
He was telling her to stop.
Rebecca looked at him with naked disbelief.
“You're choosing her over me?””
My father rubbed a hand across his face.
“This isn't about choosing anyone. It's about what you've done.””
“No. It's always about Lily. Every disagreement in this house ends with you defending her.””
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
He had defended me so rarely that I could count the occasions without taking off my shoes.
But I didn't say anything.
My father folded the letter.
“I'm calling Thomas Avery tomorrow morning.””
Rebecca's eyes flashed.
“There's no need.””
“I'm calling him.””
“David, please. You're tired, and you're upset. We can discuss this privately.””
“Why does it need to be private?””
“Because you're about to destroy this family over a clerical mistake.””
He looked at her for a long moment.
“Then the attorney can tell me it's a clerical mistake.””
Rebecca's mouth tightened.
She turned to me.
“You should be careful about what you think you've accomplished tonight.””
My father stepped forward.
“Rebecca.””
“What?”” she demanded.
“Am I not allowed to speak in my own home anymore?””
“You are not going to threaten my daughter.””
For a second, I thought Rebecca might throw another plate.
Instead, she picked up her handbag from the kitchen counter.
“Fine. Investigate me. Call your precious lawyer. Dig through every file you can find.””
She slung the bag over her shoulder.
“But when you discover that I've done nothing wrong, don't expect me to forget how quickly you turned against me.””
She walked out of the dining room.
A moment later, her footsteps thundered up the stairs.
A bedroom door slammed.
Emma flinched.
My father stood in the middle of the room, the letter still clutched in his hand.
I watched him, not knowing what to say.
Finally, he turned toward me.
“Lily, I need you to tell me something.””
I braced myself.
“Did you open the envelope?””
“No.””
“Did you take any of the paperwork?””
“No, Dad. I only saw the addresses on a page underneath it.””
He studied my face.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
I stared at him.
“I tried to tell you things before.””
He looked away.
“Lily—”
“Remember Mom's locket? Remember when Rebecca took my phone for a week because she said I was lying about my homework? Remember the day she threw away the boxes of Mom's old photographs because she said they made the house look like a memorial?””
His face slowly changed.
“I didn't know she threw the photographs away.””
“You didn't ask.””
He sat down.
For a moment, he looked older than I had ever seen him.
“I thought you and Rebecca just had trouble getting along,” he admitted.
“I thought you would notice eventually.””
He looked at the sauce on my sweater.
Then he looked at the napkin in my hand, stained red from wiping my face.
“I'm sorry.””
I had imagined hearing those words hundreds of times.
In my imagination, I always cried when they finally came.
But standing there, I couldn't.
“I'm not the one who needs to explain what happened tonight,” I told him.
“I'm not the one who transferred the properties.””
He nodded slowly.
“No. You're not.””
My father helped Emma upstairs, then returned to the dining room and cleared the plates himself. He didn't ask me to help. He didn't tell me to stop being dramatic.
For the first time in years, he seemed to understand that the mess wasn't my responsibility.
Later, after I had showered and changed into pajamas, there was a soft knock at my bedroom door.
My father stood in the hallway, holding a glass of water.
“May I come in?””
I nodded.
He sat on the edge of my bed.
“I need to ask you something about your mother.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“When your mother was alive, did she ever tell you anything about the company? Anything about paperwork, ownership, or why she kept certain files separate?””
I frowned, searching my memory.
“Not really. She used to say paperwork was like a promise. She told me that people who asked you to sign things without reading them were people you should never trust.””
My father closed his eyes.
“She said that to me, too.””
“Did you listen?””
He didn't answer immediately.
“No,” he admitted.
“Not enough.””
He explained that after my mother died, he'd become overwhelmed by work and grief. Rebecca had offered to organize the household and help him manage his schedule. Slowly, he had begun handing her more responsibilities.
He'd signed documents she placed in front of him because he trusted her.
He'd allowed her to access company records because he believed she was helping.
And he hadn't asked enough questions.
“I don't know how much of this is a misunderstanding,” he said.
“But I promise you I'm going to find out.””
I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
But promises had become cheap in our house.
“What happens if she really did something wrong?”” I asked.
His eyes met mine.
“Then she will have to answer for it.””
After he left, I lay awake listening to the rain.
At around eleven thirty, voices drifted through the hallway.
Rebecca was on the phone again.
I couldn't make out every word, but I heard my father's name.
Then I heard mine.
“She found the envelope,” Rebecca whispered.
A pause.
“No, David has it now.””
Another pause.
Her voice grew sharper.
“I said the transfer hasn't gone through yet. The attorney put a hold on it.””
I climbed out of bed and moved toward my door.
Rebecca spoke again, so quietly that I almost missed it.
“We have to deal with Lily before he starts digging into the trust.””
My breath caught.
The trust.
I'd heard my mother mention one once, years before she died, but I'd been too young to understand it.
Rebecca continued.
“Don't tell me to calm down. If he finds the original agreement, everything changes.””
A floorboard creaked beneath my foot.
Silence.
Then Rebecca said, “Who's there?””
I hurried back to bed and pulled the covers over me.
Her footsteps approached my door.
The handle turned.
I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing.
For several seconds, she stood in the doorway.
Then she whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“Enjoy your little victory, Lily. It won't last.””
The door clicked shut.
I waited until her footsteps disappeared before sitting up.
The transfer wasn't the only thing Rebecca wanted to hide.
There was another document.
May you like
An original agreement.
And whatever it contained, my stepmother was terrified that my father might find it.
