Chapter 3: The Signature That Wasn't Mine
I read the document three times.
Then a fourth.
My name appeared beneath a statement declaring that I voluntarily relinquished my rights as successor representative of the Evelyn Brooks Charitable Trust.
The proposed recipient was Brielle Reed.
My stepsister.
I looked at Thomas.
“Who submitted this?””
“It was delivered to the foundation's administrative office two weeks ago.””
“Who signed it?””
“According to the document, you did.””
I pushed the paper away.
“I didn't sign anything.””
“I know.””
“How can you be sure?””
Thomas removed a second folder.
“Because your mother and I were careful. We retained several verified samples of your signature from documents you signed as a minor and from the educational trust records.””
He placed two pages side by side.
One contained my genuine signature.
The other contained the signature on the transfer document.
Even at a glance, the differences were obvious.
My actual signature had a distinctive loop in the letter C and a small upward stroke at the end of my surname.
The forged version looked stiff.
Someone had copied my name without understanding how I wrote it.
“Did the foundation accept this?””
“No. The transfer was flagged because it required independent legal verification.””
“Then why haven't they reported it?””
“Because the board wanted to establish who was behind it before making an accusation.””
I leaned back.
My mind was racing.
Brielle wanted my dress.
Vanessa wanted me away from the gala.
My father had hidden my mother's envelope.
And someone had attempted to transfer twenty-six million dollars in trust assets using my forged signature.
Suddenly, the argument in my bedroom seemed very small.
“Thomas, what happens if the transfer is approved?””
“You lose the authority your mother intended you to have. Brielle would become the designated representative, subject to the terms of the proposed arrangement.””
“And who benefits from that?””
Thomas didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
I thought about Vanessa's expensive wardrobe, her shopping trips, and the way she spoke about money as though it were something that existed only to satisfy her desires.
Then I remembered something.
“Wait. Brielle doesn't even know about this, does she?””
Thomas studied my face.
“I cannot say what she knows.””
“But she has been acting strangely. She wants the gala invitation. She wants my dress. She keeps insisting that I shouldn't attend.””
Thomas closed the folder.
“Then I suggest you be very careful.””
I looked at him.
“Are you telling me not to attend?””
“Quite the opposite.””
He leaned forward.
“Your mother intended for you to take your place at that gala. The board is prepared to recognize you publicly as the successor representative.””
I swallowed.
“What will happen to my father?””
“That depends on what the investigation establishes.””
I looked down at the documents again.
For years, I had defended my father.
Whenever Vanessa criticized me, I told myself he was simply trying to keep everyone happy.
Whenever Brielle took something, I told myself she was immature.
Whenever my mother's belongings disappeared, I convinced myself that I was being too sensitive.
But the evidence was sitting in front of me.
And my father's signature was on it.
I gathered the documents carefully.
“Thomas, I want everything investigated.””
He nodded.
“That's what I hoped you would say.””
“And I want to know exactly where the money went.””
“We'll begin with the records.””
I stood.
“One more thing.””
“Yes?””
“Can you help me get my dress back?””
For the first time that morning, Thomas smiled.
“I believe we can manage that.””
At 1:30 p.m., I arrived at the design studio where I worked.
My boss, Olivia Grant, was standing near the reception desk with a stack of floor plans.
Olivia was thirty-eight, sharp-minded, and one of the few people who had never treated my age or background as a limitation.
She looked up.
“Camille! You're late.””
“I'm sorry. I had an appointment.””
She studied my face.
“Are you okay?””
I hesitated.
Then I told her everything.
Not every detail.
Just enough.
The dress.
The gala.
The envelope.
The forged signature.
By the time I finished, Olivia had placed the floor plans on her desk.
“Let me understand this,” she said.
“Your stepsister took a dress you bought with your own money, your stepmother helped her, and now somebody may have forged your signature to steal your inheritance?””
“That's about right.””
Olivia stared at me.
Then she shook her head.
“Girl, you need a vacation and a lawyer.””
“I already have one.””
“Good. Because I was about to recommend three.””
I laughed for the first time that day.
Olivia walked over and hugged me.
“You know what your problem has been?””
I sighed.
“Apparently, I have several.””
“You keep trying to earn kindness from people who benefit from treating you badly.””
Her words stayed with me.
She stepped back.
“And Camille?””
“Yes?””
“Don't go to that gala looking like you're asking permission to exist.””
I smiled.
“I won't.””
That afternoon, I went shopping.
Not for another designer gown.
For a simple black dress, elegant shoes, and a small pair of diamond earrings that belonged to my mother.
The earrings had been among the few things I managed to keep after Vanessa reorganized the house.
They were modest compared with Brielle's jewelry.
But they had belonged to Evelyn Brooks.
That was enough.
At 5:15 p.m., I returned home.
Brielle was sitting on the living room sofa, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up.
“Where have you been?””
“Work.””
“Mom wants to talk to you.””
“Then she can call me.””
Brielle rolled her eyes.
“You really have become impossible.””
I continued toward the stairs.
“Camille!””
I stopped.
“What?””
She held up a phone.
On the screen was a photograph of her wearing my gown.
She had posted it on social media.
The caption read:
Finding the perfect dress for the perfect night. Some things are simply meant to be mine.
There were already dozens of comments.
One person had written:
Isn't that Camille's dress?
Brielle had replied:
Family shares everything.
I stared at the screen.
“Delete it.””
She smiled.
“Why?””
“Because it's my dress.””
“Prove it.””
I pulled out my phone and opened the original purchase confirmation.
“Here's the receipt. Here's the delivery confirmation. Here's the payment record.””
She shrugged.
“Mom says it's a family gift.””
“Then why didn't she pay for it?””
Brielle's expression hardened.
“You're obsessed with money.””
“No. I'm obsessed with people taking things that don't belong to them.””
She stood.
“Listen, Camille. I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish at the gala, but don't embarrass yourself.””
I looked at her.
“Why are you so worried about me attending?””
“I'm not.””
“Then it shouldn't matter.””
She stepped closer.
“Dad is bringing me. That's all you need to know.””
I smiled faintly.
“Interesting.””
“What?””
“Nothing.””
I continued upstairs.
At 7:00 p.m., Vanessa entered my room without knocking.
She was wearing a cream-colored silk blouse and tailored trousers.
Her hair was perfect.
Her expression was not.
“Camille, we need to discuss Saturday.””
I closed my laptop.
“Go ahead.””
She glanced at the black dress hanging from my wardrobe.
“What's that?””
“My gala outfit.””
Vanessa's eyebrows lifted.
“You're still planning to attend?””
“Yes.””
She gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Daniel and I have already made arrangements.””
“Then you won't need to make any more.””
She stepped farther into the room.
“Listen carefully. Brielle is going through an important period in her life. She has been invited to several events where she needs to make the right impression.””
“That's wonderful.””
“She needs the dress.””
“No.””
Vanessa's face tightened.
“Don't be childish.””
“It's my dress.””
“Your father pays for this house. He pays for the utilities, the food, the security, and nearly everything you enjoy. You have no idea how expensive your lifestyle is.””
I looked around my bedroom.
The furniture had belonged to my mother.
The paintings had been selected by my mother.
The bookshelves had been installed by my mother.
Even the chandelier had been chosen by her.
“Actually,” I said, “I know exactly what I pay for.””
Vanessa narrowed her eyes.
“What is that supposed to mean?””
“I have my own salary. My own savings. My own credit cards. And I bought my dress with my own money.””
“You're living under Daniel's roof.””
“And I'm still his daughter.””
For a moment, her expression looked almost hateful.
Then she changed tactics.
She sat on the edge of my bed and softened her voice.
“Camille, I know things haven't been easy since Evelyn died.””
I said nothing.
“Your father has tried very hard to give you a stable home.””
“Okay.””
“But you need to understand something. This family cannot keep revolving around your mother's memory.””
I stared at her.
“Why does everything connected to my mother make you uncomfortable?””
Vanessa's fingers tightened around her handbag.
“What?””
“You removed her photographs. You got rid of her desk. You changed the garden. You gave away her books.””
“I was making the house more modern.””
“You told me I should stop talking about her.””
“I never said that.””
“You did.””
She stood abruptly.
“You are twisting everything.””
I rose too.
“Then answer one question.””
“What?””
“Did you know about my mother's trust?””
Vanessa went completely still.
It lasted only a second.
But I saw it.
Her eyes moved toward the door.
Then she laughed.
“What ridiculous nonsense.””
“It's a simple question.””
“I don't know what you're talking about.””
“Twenty-six million dollars.””
Her face drained of color.
I continued.
“That's the current estimated value.””
Vanessa's mouth opened.
No words came out.
I watched her carefully.
Then she forced a smile.
“Who told you that?””
“Does it matter?””
“Camille, you have no idea what you're talking about.””
“Then you shouldn't be worried.””
She grabbed her handbag.
“Your father needs to know about this.””
“He already knows.””
That stopped her.
For a brief moment, neither of us moved.
Then Vanessa walked toward the door.
But before she left, she turned around.
“You should be very careful about what you say at the gala.””
I smiled.
“Why? Is there something people might find out?””
She slammed the door.
At 9:42 p.m., my phone rang.
Margaret Ellis.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?””
“Camille, I'm sorry to call so late.””
“Is everything okay?””
“Not exactly.””
I sat up.
“What happened?””
“The board held an emergency meeting this evening. Thomas presented the forged transfer document.””
“And?””
“The board voted to suspend all proposed changes to the trust until the investigation is complete.””
I exhaled.
“That's good.””
“Yes. But there's something else.””
I gripped the phone.
“What?””
“Your father contacted the foundation this afternoon.””
“What did he say?””
“He requested that Saturday's announcement be postponed.””
I closed my eyes.
“Did the board agree?””
“No.””
“Good.””
Margaret lowered her voice.
“Camille, there's one more issue. Someone attempted to access the original trust records from the foundation's administrative office.””
My stomach tightened.
“Who?””
“We're reviewing the security footage.””
“Margaret, do you think Vanessa knows?””
A pause.
Then Margaret said something that made the room seem suddenly colder.
“We don't think she merely knows about the trust.””
“What do you mean?””
“Camille, the person who attempted to access the records was carrying a visitor badge issued under Brielle Reed's name.””
I stared at the wall.
My stepsister.
The same girl who had screamed that my dress belonged to her.
The same girl who had been so desperate to attend the gala.
The same girl whose name appeared on the fraudulent transfer document.
“Are you sure?”” I whispered.
“I'm afraid so.””
I looked toward my bedroom door.
Then I heard something outside.
A low mechanical click.
I walked over and opened it.
The hallway was empty.
But at the bottom of the stairs, my father stood holding a brown envelope.
His face was pale.
“Camille,” he said.
“We need to talk.””
I looked at the envelope.
“What is that?””
He glanced toward Vanessa's bedroom.
Then back at me.
“Something I should have given you three years ago.””
He walked closer and lowered his voice.
“Before you go to that gala, there's something about your mother's death that you need to understand.””
My heart stopped.
“What about Mom?””
My father swallowed.
Then he said the words I had spent five years hoping I would never hear.
“Your mother didn't die believing the trust was safe. She knew someone was trying to take it from her.””
He placed the envelope in my hands.
May you like
And on its front, in my mother's handwriting, were four words:
*THEY KNOW WHAT I FOUND.*
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