Chapter 3 - THE SECRET SIGNATURE
Nobody spoke.
I thought I had misunderstood her.
“What did you say?”
My mother stood slowly.
“The house was never supposed to be yours.”
I looked around the room.
“This is the house I bought.”
“No.”
“You're wrong.”
“You bought the mortgage.”
I stared at her.
She continued.
“The land belonged to your grandfather.”
I felt the room tilt.
“My grandfather died before I bought this place.”
“Exactly.”
Dana's eyes narrowed.
“Mrs. Carter, I need you to be precise.”
My mother ignored her.
“When your grandfather died, the property was placed into a family trust.”
I looked at the documents.
“Then why did I pay for it?”
“Because your father needed cash.”
“What does Dad have to do with this?”
My father had died seven years earlier.
My mother had always told me he left behind debts.
I had spent years believing it.
She had told me selling the old family property was necessary.
She had told me the house I eventually bought was separate.
Now everything sounded different.
“What debts?”
My mother hesitated.
“Business debts.”
“How much?”
She didn't answer.
Dana stepped forward.
“Mr. Carter, do you have access to your father's estate records?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“My mother handled them.”
Dana slowly looked at my mother.
My stomach dropped.
“Mom.”
She said nothing.
“Where are Dad's records?”
“I don't know.”
“You handled the estate.”
“I was his wife.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Her face hardened.
“You're speaking to me like I'm a criminal.”
“I don't know what you are anymore.”
The sentence escaped before I could stop it.
My mother flinched.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.
Then I remembered Olivia washing dishes with our feverish child against her chest.
The sympathy disappeared.
Dana asked:
“Did your father have a life insurance policy?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
My mother answered.
“Two hundred thousand.”
I looked at her.
“You told me it was fifty.”
She froze.
I remembered that day.
I had been twenty-nine.
My father had died unexpectedly.
My mother had cried in the kitchen and told me there wasn't enough money to cover everything.
She had said the insurance barely paid his debts.
I had taken extra shifts.
Sold my truck.
Worked weekends.
I had believed her.
“Where did the rest go?”
My mother whispered:
“It wasn't yours.”
“Whose was it?”
She didn't answer.
Dana turned to me.
“Do you know the name Eleanor Price?”
The name meant nothing.
“No.”
My mother suddenly reacted.
“Don't bring her into this.”
Dana's expression changed.
“Who is Eleanor Price?”
My mother stood.
“That's private.”
Dana looked at me.
“Do you authorize us to investigate?”
“Yes.”
My mother's voice rose.
“No!”
Everyone stared.
I turned toward her.
“Why?”
She looked terrified.
That terrified me more than anything.
“Who is Eleanor Price?”
She shook her head.
“Someone who should have stayed out of this family.”
“What does she have to do with Dad?”
Silence.
Then Uncle Raymond spoke.
“She was your father's attorney.”
My mother turned on him.
“Raymond!”
He stood his ground.
“You've lied long enough.”
My mother stared at him.
He looked at me.
“Your father didn't die owing money.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What?”
“He had money.”
“How much?”
Raymond hesitated.
“More than you know.”
My mother shouted:
“Stop!”
I stepped toward her.
“How much?”
Raymond finally said:
“Close to two million.”
The room went silent.
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because my brain couldn't process it.
“Two million?”
My father had supposedly died broke.
My mother had made me work until I was exhausted to help settle imaginary debts.
And now my uncle was telling me my father had nearly two million dollars.
“Where is it?”
Raymond looked at my mother.
“She knows.”
My mother lowered her eyes.
I felt something inside me break.
“You stole from Dad?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
“I protected it.”
“For whom?”
She didn't answer.
Dana's phone rang.
She stepped away.
A minute later, she returned.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“The county records office has an electronically filed amendment connected to your property.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
I stared at her.
“Three days ago?”
“Yes.”
“Who filed it?”
She looked at my mother.
“Your mother.”
I turned.
My mother was already walking toward the hallway.
“Where are you going?”
“I need air.”
“No.”
She stopped.
“Ethan.”
“You're staying.”
“You can't keep me here.”
“I don't want to keep you here.”
I pointed at the folder.
“I want answers.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she whispered:
“You don't want the answers.”
“Try me.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Your father wasn't your biological father.”
The room disappeared.
I heard nothing.
Not the refrigerator.
Not the music.
Not the voices.
Only my own heartbeat.
Olivia covered her mouth.
Uncle Raymond sat down.
Dana stared at my mother.
I couldn't move.
My mother whispered:
“I was going to tell you someday.”
I finally found my voice.
“Who is?”
She closed her eyes.
“Your biological father.”
May you like
She opened them again.
“He's still alive.”
