Chapter 2 - The Papers with My Forged Signature
Ivan's wife, Rebecca, warmed Fiona's hands around a mug of cocoa and made sure she had breakfast. Hazel, twelve, and Kelly, nine, sat on either side of their sister as if their bodies could form a wall around her. Fiona asked for pancakes shaped like elephants. Rebecca made them without hesitation.
Only when the children were settled did Ivan take me into his office.
"Show me everything," he said.
I handed him my phone. He went through the photographs once, then returned to the image of the latch and enlarged it with two fingers.
"He installed this?"
"I don't know who did. Fiona says Luca locked her out."
Ivan covered his mouth. He had warned me for months that Luca's investment firm was struggling, and I'd defended my husband every time. I expected him to say he'd told me so. Instead he asked whether Fiona had seen a doctor.
"Not yet."
"Then that's first."
We drove to a pediatric clinic. The physician examined Fiona, documented her condition, and explained that a report about the circumstances was warranted. She spoke gently and didn't ask Fiona to repeat her story for our benefit. When she finished, my daughter asked, "Can I still have a sticker if I lost the game?"
"You didn't lose anything," the doctor said. "Pick two."
Fiona chose a moon and a puppy. I looked away before she saw me crying.
Back at Ivan's house, family attorney Miriam Torres arrived. She wore her hair in a neat braid and listened with the unhurried attention of someone used to hearing people explain how their lives had broken apart. I showed her the photographs, Luca's messages, and the folder I'd found.
"You didn't sign these documents?" she asked.
"No. Not the deed. Not the guardianship forms. Nothing."
"Then we'll verify the official records and preserve what you have. Don't return to the house alone or confront him about the details."
"What about the safe?"
"We'll work out a lawful, safe way to obtain any relevant records. You don't need to put yourself in danger to prove you're telling the truth."
I hated waiting. I wanted to know what Luca had hidden behind steel. Then I remembered an insurance inventory he'd uploaded to a shared cloud drive after a neighborhood burglary. I still had access. Inside were photographs of watches, jewelry, and a PDF called WHITMORE PRIVATE ACCOUNTS.
I opened it. An account marked ASTER appeared beside a summary of transfers totaling $410,000. Several entries were labeled CONSULTING RESERVE. One was labeled EDUCATION.
My stomach dropped.
Our daughters had education savings. We funded them through birthdays, canceled vacations, and the extra holiday shifts I worked when nurses were scarce. Grandpa had contributed before he died. Luca had access because we'd both been listed on some of the arrangements.
"That's the girls' money," I said.
Miriam couldn't determine the source from one inventory sheet. She helped me outline which banks to contact, what records to request, and how to secure the accounts I controlled. There would be a financial review, not a miraculous phone call that fixed everything.
My phone rang. Chloe.
I answered because I wanted to hear whether my sister could say my daughter's name without choking on it.
"Jessi, you're making this ugly," she said.
"Was Fiona on that floor the whole night?"
"Luca said she was sleeping. I didn't check."
"You didn't check?"
"I didn't know it was my job to babysit your kids."
I looked through Ivan's office window. Fiona was teaching Kelly how to arrange her new stickers on a piece of paper. She had no idea two people she trusted had just argued over whether she was worth checking on.
"How long has this been going on, Chloe?"
"It wasn't the first time," she said. Her voice carried a little triumph, as if she expected me to compete for the privilege of keeping Luca.
"How many times?"
"He invited me back tonight. You were supposed to be working."
I closed my eyes. The highlighted night shifts on the folder weren't estimates. They were appointments.
"Do not contact my children," I said, and ended the call.
Miriam requested an urgent property-record search. Ivan sat beside me while we waited, one hand wrapped around a mug he'd forgotten to drink from. Six months ago he'd said Luca's firm was borrowing at expensive rates and delaying payments. I had accused him of disliking Luca on principle.
"I should have listened," I said.
"Maybe. But he still chose what he did. You didn't choose it for him."
The property search arrived in the afternoon. A transfer involving Grandpa's house had been submitted to the land records. Aster House Holdings LLC was listed as the receiving company. Its registered manager was Chloe Bennett.
I read the name twice. Chloe hadn't just taken my husband into my guest room. She had positioned herself to take my house.
Miriam said a pending document wasn't necessarily a valid transfer. The signature, authentication, and source of authority needed to be examined. She began making calls to property counsel. I stayed at Ivan's table and wrote down every financial account I could remember.
Then Luca left a voicemail.
"Jessica, I know you're upset. But if you involve lawyers, you'll ruin the family. Think about Hazel and Kelly. Think about what people at the hospital will say."
A pause followed.
"If you come back now, we can explain the paperwork."
He hadn't asked once how Fiona was recovering. I saved the recording and forwarded it to Miriam.
At dinner, Fiona fell asleep halfway through a bite of chicken, her cheek resting against Rebecca's arm. I carried her to a bed with thick blankets and a night-light shaped like a star. She woke long enough to ask whether the bedroom door would lock.
"Not from the outside," I told her.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
May you like
I left it slightly open. At the bottom of the stairs, Miriam called back with an update: the company records were real, and a lender was listed in connection with the transfer. We needed more documents before drawing conclusions, but somebody had tried to turn my home into collateral.
The house Grandpa left me had never carried a mortgage after his final payment. Standing in Ivan's dark hallway, I wondered how much of our family's future Luca had already spent.
