Chapter 3 - The Signature That Wasn't Mine
Nobody moved.
Jessica seemed to realize what she'd said a second too late.
Mason's face hardened.
Eric looked at his wife.
“Jessica.”
“What?” she snapped. “He's sixteen. He hears half a conversation and suddenly everybody thinks he's a witness?”
Witness.
Another interesting word.
I stood beside Frank's chair with my phone in one hand and Eric's cut wristband in the other.
“Mason, come sit beside me.”
He did.
Jessica started forward.
I raised my hand.
“Don't.”
She stopped.
I looked at Mason.
“Tell me what you heard.”
He rubbed his palms against his shorts.
“Last night I came downstairs for water.”
“What time?”
“Maybe twelve-thirty.”
“Who was awake?”
“Dad and Jessica.”
He had called her Jessica since his mother—Eric's first wife—died when he was nine. Jessica had never forced “Mom,” which I'd once respected her for.
“They were in the kitchen,” he continued. “I heard Jessica say Monday mattered.”
Eric interrupted.
“Mason, you misunderstood.”
I turned toward him.
“You'll get your turn.”
He stared at me.
I looked back at Mason.
“What exactly did she say?”
He thought.
“She said, ‘Once Monday is done, she can't just change her mind.'”
My stomach tightened.
“What else?”
“Dad said you hadn't agreed yet.”
Jessica's face changed.
Mason continued.
“Then she said you didn't need to agree to everything. She said you just needed to stop interfering long enough for the paperwork to go through.”
I looked at Eric.
His face was gray.
“Is that true?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Not the way it sounds.”
“Then tell me how it sounds.”
Jessica cut in.
“We were discussing estate planning.”
I almost laughed.
“My estate?”
“You've talked for years about Eric eventually receiving this place.”
“Eventually.”
“Exactly.”
“No. Not exactly.”
She took a breath.
“Linda, the cabin costs money. It requires maintenance. You're almost seventy.”
There it was.
Not concern.
Calculation dressed as concern.
“I am sixty-nine.”
“That's what I mean.”
“What does my age have to do with Monday?”
She didn't answer.
I looked at Eric.
“What happens Monday?”
He sat down heavily.
“There was supposed to be a meeting.”
“With whom?”
“A property management company.”
“Why?”
“To discuss options.”
“What options?”
He looked at Jessica.
I saw it then.
My son was involved.
But he wasn't leading.
That didn't excuse him.
Sometimes cowardice causes as much damage as intention.
“Eric.”
He looked at me.
“Selling a partial interest.”
The words seemed to hang in the room.
“You planned to sell part of my cabin?”
“No.”
Jessica jumped in.
“Not sell. Restructure.”
I turned toward her.
“If you use one more word designed to make theft sound like paperwork, you're leaving.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
Eric continued.
“There was an investor interested in lake properties.”
“Interested in mine?”
“Yes.”
“How did an investor learn mine was available?”
Silence.
“Eric?”
“Jessica contacted them.”
I looked at her.
She lifted her chin.
“The property is worth substantially more than you realize.”
“I know exactly what it's worth.”
“You're sitting on an asset.”
“No. I'm sitting in my home.”
“You use it a few weekends a year.”
“So?”
“So it doesn't make financial sense.”
“To whom?”
“To the family.”
I stared at her.
There are moments when somebody says something so revealing that arguing becomes unnecessary.
“The family,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“You mean you.”
“I mean Eric. Mason. Their future.”
“Interesting that Mason didn't know.”
She glanced at him.
“He's a child.”
“He's sixteen. And apparently he's the only person here who remembered I own the place.”
Eric stood.
“Mom, nobody was going to steal the cabin.”
“Then why is my forged signature on a document?”
“We don't know that it was forged.”
I looked at him.
“Would you like to try that sentence again?”
He went quiet.
I opened the document on my phone.
“Who prepared this?”
Jessica finally answered.
“Lake Heritage Property Services.”
I'd never heard of them.
“Contact?”
She hesitated.
“Robert Kline.”
“Phone number.”
“Linda—”
“Phone number.”
She gave it to me.
I called.
Straight to voicemail.
I left no message.
Then I called my attorney.
Her name was Rebecca Shaw.
Frank and I had hired Rebecca fifteen years earlier for estate planning. She was fifty-six now, sharp, practical, and one of the few people I knew who could make silence sound like cross-examination.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Linda?”
“Rebecca, are you busy?”
“I was about to leave the office.”
“I think someone forged my signature on property paperwork.”
Silence.
Then:
“I'm not leaving the office.”
I walked onto the porch.
For the next ten minutes, I explained everything.
Rebecca interrupted only to clarify details.
When I finished, she said, “Send me every document.”
“I only have the marina authorization.”
“Send it. Then don't sign anything. Don't verbally authorize anything. Don't allow anyone access to original property documents.”
“I won't.”
“Where are your deed and trust documents?”
“At home in my safe.”
“Good.”
I thought about the desk.
“Some copies are here.”
“Secure them.”
I went inside while still talking to her.
My desk was in the small room Frank used as an office.
I opened the top drawer.
Utility bills.
Pens.
A flashlight.
Second drawer.
Insurance records.
The folder containing copies of the deed and marina documents should have been behind them.
It wasn't.
I stopped.
“Rebecca.”
“What?”
“A folder is missing.”
Eric appeared in the doorway.
“What folder?”
I looked at him.
“The property file.”
His face answered before his mouth did.
“I borrowed it.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Jessica needed information for insurance.”
Jessica appeared behind him.
“I was comparing coverage.”
Rebecca's voice came through my phone.
“Linda, put me on speaker.”
I did.
“Jessica,” Rebecca said, “did Linda authorize you to use those documents for any transaction, application, management agreement, ownership change, sale, financing, or transfer?”
Jessica stared at the phone.
“No.”
“Did she authorize you to reproduce her signature?”
“No.”
“Do you currently possess copies of Linda's property documents?”
Jessica hesitated.
“Some.”
“Preserve them. Do not destroy, alter, delete, or dispose of anything.”
Jessica's face flushed.
“You're talking to me like I'm a criminal.”
Rebecca remained calm.
“I'm telling everyone to preserve documents.”
I almost smiled.
Rebecca continued.
“Linda, I'm sending you an email. Forward everything there. Monday's meeting does not happen without me.”
Jessica's eyes widened.
“You can't just interfere with a private meeting.”
Rebecca replied before I could.
“If the meeting concerns Linda Dawson's property, Linda Dawson's attorney is not interfering.”
Jessica said nothing.
After the call ended, I looked at Eric.
“Bring me the folder.”
“I don't have it here.”
“Where is it?”
He looked toward Jessica.
That was becoming a habit.
She answered.
“At our house.”
“Then someone is going to retrieve it.”
“We're two hours away.”
“I have time.”
Jessica laughed incredulously.
“You expect us to leave the reunion?”
I looked around my cabin.
“No.”
Her expression eased slightly.
Then I finished.
“I expect the reunion to leave.”
A murmur moved through the room.
Eric stared at me.
“You're kicking everyone out?”
“Anyone I didn't personally invite can collect their belongings.”
“Mom, come on.”
“No.”
“You can't punish everybody because you're angry at us.”
“I'm not punishing anybody. I'm reclaiming my house.”
Jessica stepped closer.
“These people drove hours.”
“So did I.”
“They brought children.”
“There are hotels.”
Her eyes flashed.
“The same hotel wasn't good enough for you?”
I held her gaze.
“No, Jessica. Because I own this.”
Nobody spoke.
Then a chair scraped.
Jessica's father stood.
He was a quiet man named Howard. I'd always liked him.
He looked at his daughter.
“Pack your things.”
Jessica stared at him.
“Dad?”
“Linda's right.”
“Don't.”
“You invited us here without telling her?”
Jessica didn't answer.
Howard shook his head.
“I thought she knew.”
So did others.
Within twenty minutes, bags appeared.
People avoided my eyes.
A few apologized.
I told them they had nothing to apologize for if they'd genuinely believed I approved.
Jessica stood rigidly near the kitchen.
Eric helped people carry luggage.
Mason stayed beside me.
As the cabin emptied, the place began to breathe again.
Near sunset, only five people remained.
Me.
Eric.
Jessica.
Mason.
And Jessica's mother, who was waiting for Howard to bring the car around.
Then Mason tugged my sleeve.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“There was something else.”
Jessica heard him.
Her face tightened.
“What now?”
Mason ignored her.
“When they were talking last night, Jessica said something about Grandpa.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What about him?”
“She said they could use something he signed.”
I stared at Jessica.
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
Toward Frank's old office.
And suddenly I knew the missing property folder wasn't the only thing someone had been looking for.
I walked toward the office.
Frank had kept a locked drawer beneath his desk.
I hadn't opened it since the year he died.
When I reached down and pulled the handle, the drawer slid open.
The lock had been broken.
May you like
And whatever had once been inside was gone.
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