Chapter 4 - The Signature That Wasn't MineI had forgotten about the life insurance policy.
That was the part that frightened me most.
Not the policy itself.
The fact that Daniel had managed to bury something important beneath so many other lies.
Two years earlier, we had purchased life insurance as part of our estate planning.
It was supposed to be straightforward.
If one of us died, the surviving spouse would have financial support.
But my father's trust attorney had advised against allowing Daniel access to certain trust-related assets.
So the policy was separate.
I remembered signing the original paperwork.
I remembered Daniel joking about how much insurance companies charged people who were perfectly healthy.
And I remembered Vivian listening from the doorway.
At the time, I thought nothing of it.
Now I wondered how much she had known.
“Find out whether that beneficiary change was completed,” I told Marta.
She nodded.
“I've already requested the records.”
“And Nia?”
“Detective Reed is trying to locate her.”
I looked down at the bandages covering my arms.
“I should have gone to the police sooner.”
Marta pulled her chair closer.
“You had evidence of suspected financial misconduct. You were documenting it carefully.”
“I knew Daniel was dangerous.”
“You knew he was deceptive. What happened in that kitchen is his responsibility and Vivian's.”
I turned toward the window.
“I still should have left.”
Marta didn't argue.
She simply sat with me.
That evening, a nurse came in carrying a small brown envelope.
“Someone dropped this off for you.”
My heart jumped.
“Who?”
“An older woman. She said she used to work for your family.”
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
Mrs. Mercer.
June Bell.
Our former housekeeper.
Vivian had fired her in July after accusing her of stealing a silver bracelet.
I had never believed the accusation.
June had worked for us for eighteen months.
She was sixty-three, widowed, and helped support a grandson with disabilities.
She was also one of the kindest people I had ever met.
Inside the envelope was a Christmas card.
A simple picture of a red cardinal sitting on a snowy branch.
Underneath the printed holiday greeting, June had written:
I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I heard them talking about the kitchen. Please tell the police I will speak to them.
I stared at the card.
Then I called Marta.
June arrived at the hospital the following morning.
She wore a faded purple coat and carried a paper bag containing homemade cookies.
The moment she saw me, she began crying.
“Oh, Mrs. Mercer.”
“June.”
She set the cookies down.
“I knew something was wrong.”
I reached for her hand.
“What did you hear?”
June sat down.
“Back in July, Mrs. Mercer—Vivian—was talking to Mr. Daniel in the breakfast room.”
“About what?”
“You.”
I waited.
“She said you were becoming a problem. That you'd started asking questions about money.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did Daniel say?”
“He told her he could handle you.”
June wiped her eyes.
“Then she said something I'll never forget.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘If she won't sign, perhaps she'll have an accident.’”
A chill spread through me.
June continued.
“I was standing outside the dining room. I didn't mean to listen.”
“Did they see you?”
“Mrs. Vivian did.”
“What happened?”
“She fired me that afternoon.”
I squeezed her hand.
“You should have called me.”
“I tried.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“I called three times. Mr. Daniel answered twice. The third time, he told me you didn't want to speak to me.”
I closed my eyes.
Another friendship.
Another connection.
Cut away.
June looked down.
“He said if I kept bothering your family, he'd make sure nobody hired me again.”
I knew Daniel could have done exactly that.
His family had connections throughout Boston.
June had needed the money.
She had been afraid.
“I'm glad you're here,” I whispered.
She shook her head.
“I should've come anyway.”
Detective Reed took her statement later that morning.
By afternoon, the investigation had expanded.
The police had obtained records relating to Daniel's insurance inquiry.
Marta came into my room carrying a new document.
“The insurance company confirmed something.”
I sat straighter.
“Tell me.”
“Daniel submitted a beneficiary-change request six weeks ago.”
“To whom?”
“Vivian.”
I stared at her.
“His mother?”
“Yes.”
“On my life insurance?”
“Yes.”
“Was it processed?”
“No. The insurer flagged a signature discrepancy and requested additional verification.”
I let out a slow breath.
Daniel hadn't even managed to complete the fraud properly.
But his intentions were becoming impossible to ignore.
Marta placed another page on the bed.
“There was also a request concerning the policy's accelerated-benefit provisions.”
I looked at her.
“Which means?”
“He was exploring whether a serious medical condition could trigger a payout.”
A silence settled between us.
Then I asked, “Did he make that inquiry before the incident?”
Marta nodded.
“Four days before Christmas.”
I looked at the date.
December 20.
Four days before Vivian poured boiling oil across my back.
Four days before Daniel stepped over me.
Four days before he told an ambulance dispatcher that his clumsy wife had injured herself.
My phone rang.
Detective Reed.
I answered.
“Did you find Nia?”
“Not yet.”
My heart sank.
“But we found something at her apartment.”
“What?”
“A copy of a document that appears to contain your signature.”
I closed my eyes.
“Which document?”
“The one authorizing a multimillion-dollar loan.”
I swallowed.
“That signature is forged.”
“We suspected that.”
“Why?”
Reed paused.
“Because the document is dated Christmas Eve.”
I stared at Marta.
May you like
Detective Reed continued.
“Mrs. Mercer, according to the paperwork, you signed it two hours after you were admitted to the hospital.”
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