Chapter 4 - The Signature
Nathan had cheated on me.
That broke my heart.
Someone forging my signature could send them to prison.
That changed everything.
Rebecca brought in a forensic document examiner named Dr. Malcolm Pierce.
He was sixty-three, wore rimless glasses, and treated handwriting the way surgeons treated X-rays.
He studied the document for nearly an hour.
Then he pointed to three letters in my surname.
“Whoever produced this had access to examples of your signature.”
“Can you prove it’s fake?”
“I can give a professional opinion. Proof is ultimately a legal question.”
“Your opinion?”
“It was simulated.”
My skin prickled.
Rebecca asked, “Could Nathan have done it?”
Pierce shook his head.
“I determine characteristics of writing, not the identity of the writer.”
I appreciated that answer.
Facts.
Not revenge.
Facts were becoming my life raft.
The forged authorization had never been formally used, but it had been circulated internally during early discussions with Meridian.
That mattered.
Someone had wanted the buyer to believe I had already agreed.
I met Victoria that afternoon.
Not alone.
Rebecca sat at another table across the café.
Victoria arrived wearing a cream suit and no wedding ring.
She was younger than I expected.
Thirty-one, perhaps.
Beautiful in the polished, controlled way of someone who had spent years learning never to look uncertain.
When she saw me, uncertainty was exactly what appeared.
“Clara.”
“Victoria.”
She sat.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I’m sorry.”
I almost stood up.
“I know that doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re right.”
She accepted that.
“Nathan told me your marriage was effectively over.”
“Yet we were living together.”
“He said you were separating privately because of the company.”
“And that made sleeping with a married man acceptable?”
“No.”
Her answer came quickly.
No excuses.
That surprised me.
“I made a selfish choice,” she continued. “I knew enough to know better.”
“Why contact me?”
“Because Meridian is blaming Nathan for the failed transaction, and Nathan is blaming you.”
My jaw tightened.
“He told them I was refusing to sign?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell them why?”
“No.”
Of course not.
Victoria opened her tablet.
“I discovered the authorization issue yesterday.”
She showed me an email chain.
Nathan had sent the questionable authorization to Graham Voss eleven months earlier.
But the attachment had not originated from Nathan’s email.
It came from Carter Development’s general counsel.
Martin Shaw.
I knew Martin.
He had attended our wedding.
He sent us Christmas baskets every December.
He had once held my hair while I vomited from food poisoning during a company retreat.
“Martin prepared this?”
“It appears so.”
“Did Nathan know it was forged?”
Victoria hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
That answer mattered.
I wanted Nathan guilty of everything because anger was simpler when it had one address.
But facts refused to cooperate.
Victoria scrolled.
“There’s something else.”
An email from Nathan to Martin:
Clara hasn’t agreed yet. Do not represent otherwise. I’ll speak to her when terms are final.
Dated eleven months earlier.
I read it twice.
“So Nathan knew I hadn’t signed.”
“Yes.”
“But this doesn’t prove he knew Martin sent the fake.”
“No.”
I hated that she was being fair to him.
“Why are you helping me?”
Victoria’s face changed.
“Because Graham told me this morning that if you challenge the authorization, Meridian will claim Nathan supplied it personally.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Why protect Nathan?”
“I’m not.”
Her eyes met mine.
“I’m protecting myself.”
Then she told me something I didn’t expect.
Victoria had ended the affair two weeks before our anniversary.
Nathan had wanted to continue.
She had refused.
“That’s why he was angry that night,” she said quietly.
My stomach twisted.
His wish.
I finally understood.
Nathan had not said he wished I weren’t his wife because he suddenly realized our marriage was dead.
He said it because the woman he wanted had refused to continue being his mistress.
I laughed once.
It sounded terrible.
Victoria lowered her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
This time the apology hurt differently.
“Did he love you?”
She took a long breath.
“He said he did.”
“Did you love him?”
“I thought I did.”
“And now?”
“Now I think we were two unhappy people using each other to avoid making honest decisions.”
I looked out the window.
For months, I had imagined Victoria as the thief who stole my husband.
Sitting across from her, I understood something more painful.
Nathan had not been stolen.
He had walked.
Willingly.
And I had spent months standing at the door pretending he was still inside.
I returned to Sophie’s house that evening.
There was an envelope waiting.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Nathan and Martin Shaw outside a downtown Charleston bank.
Written on the back:
Ask what happened to your grandmother’s $186,000.
I called Rebecca immediately.
She answered on the second ring.
“I need you to trace my original investment.”
There was a pause.
“We already started.”
“And?”
Another pause.
Too long.
“Rebecca?”
“The records are complicated.”
“Tell me.”
“Your money didn’t go where Nathan told you it went.”
My chest tightened.
“Where did it go?”
“Most of it entered Carter Development.”
“Most?”
“Clara, approximately forty thousand dollars was transferred somewhere else three days later.”
“To where?”
“A company called Lowcountry Holdings.”
I had never heard of it.
“Who owns it?”
“We’re working on that.”
My phone vibrated.
Nathan.
For the first time since leaving him, I answered.
“Clara.”
“Where did my grandmother’s money go?”
Silence.
May you like
Then Nathan said something that terrified me more than denial would have.
“Who told you?”
