Chapter 3 - The Signature That Wasn't Mine
By noon, my mother had tried to take custody of my daughter twice.
The first attempt had involved a faxed guardianship document.
The second involved a woman from child protective services who arrived at the hospital carrying a report that described me as an unstable mother.
I learned about the second attempt when a hospital social worker named Denise Parker entered Maisie's room.
She spoke gently.
"There's been an allegation concerning your ability to provide safe care."
I stared at her.
"My daughter was drugged and abandoned in a dumpster."
"I understand."
"No, you don't. The people who did it are the ones making the allegation."
Denise pulled a chair beside mine.
"I'm not here to accuse you. I'm here to make sure we understand the circumstances and that Maisie will have a safe place to recover."
I forced myself to listen.
The report claimed I had been drinking heavily during my engagement celebration.
It claimed I had left Maisie unattended.
It claimed I suffered from unpredictable emotional outbursts.
And it claimed my parents had repeatedly stepped in to protect my child.
Every accusation sounded painfully familiar.
My mother had spent my entire life rewriting events until the person she hurt became the person everyone blamed.
When I was thirteen, she broke my bedroom mirror during an argument and told relatives I had destroyed it in a tantrum.
When I was seventeen, she took the money I had saved from my summer job and claimed I had lost it.
When I was twenty-four, after Maisie's father disappeared during my pregnancy, she told the family I had ruined my future through irresponsibility.
Now she was using the same strategy against my daughter.
"May I see the report?" I asked.
Denise turned the pages toward me.
The reporting party's name had been withheld from the copy.
But one sentence gave her away.
The child frequently cries to manipulate adults.
My mother had said those exact words the week before.
I looked up.
"Elaine Holloway wrote this."
Denise didn't confirm it.
She simply asked whether I had somewhere safe to stay.
"With me," Lucas answered.
He had been standing by the window.
"My house is fifteen minutes away. Maisie has her own bedroom there. I can provide whatever documentation you need."
Denise nodded.
"We'll discuss the discharge plan when the doctors believe she's ready."
After she left, I stared at the monitors.
Maisie's breathing had improved, but she still hadn't fully awakened.
Dr. Sloan explained that the medication could remain in her system for some time and that they were watching carefully for complications.
I touched her cheek.
"I'm sorry I didn't see what they were."
Lucas crouched beside me.
"You trusted your parents."
"That was my mistake."
He shook his head.
"Their decisions belong to them."
Before I could answer, Detective Bennett returned with a tablet.
"We have the guardianship document."
She showed me the signature.
It looked like mine.
Almost.
But the final letter curved differently.
And the date was wrong.
"This says I signed at four thirty yesterday," I said.
"Where were you at four thirty?"
"At the bakery, picking up Maisie's birthday cake."
"Can anyone verify that?"
"The owner. And I paid with my debit card."
Bennett made a note.
"Good."
She enlarged another section.
"Did you recognize this notary?"
I read the name.
Patricia Voss.
My stomach dropped.
"She's my father's business attorney."
"She's listed as the notary who witnessed your signature."
"She wasn't at the bakery."
"That's something we'll investigate."
The detective studied me.
"Has your family ever pressured you to surrender custody of Maisie?"
I hesitated.
"Not directly."
"Indirectly?"
I thought about my mother's comments.
Lucas is marrying you despite your baggage.
Some men want their own children.
Maybe Maisie would be happier somewhere else.
I had dismissed them as cruelty.
Now they sounded like preparation.
"Elaine said Lucas deserved a fresh start," I whispered.
The detective's expression sharpened.
"What did she mean?"
"I thought she meant that he shouldn't have to raise another man's daughter."
Lucas looked at me.
"She said that?"
I nodded.
His jaw tightened.
"I told your mother months ago that Maisie was part of our family. I told her I wanted to adopt her someday, if you were comfortable with it."
I started crying.
Because I remembered that conversation.
Lucas had been sitting on our apartment floor, helping Maisie stack wooden blocks.
He had looked at me and said, "I'm not trying to replace anyone. I just want her to know I'm staying."
That was why I had agreed to marry him.
Not because he had money.
Not because he could provide stability.
Because he had chosen us both.
Detective Bennett's phone rang.
She stepped outside again.
Minutes later, she returned.
"We located the bakery receipt and surveillance footage. Your alibi checks out."
Relief passed through me so quickly that it almost hurt.
"And my parents?"
"Your father and mother have retained counsel."
Of course they had.
Warren Holloway knew how to protect himself.
He owned three hardware stores, two rental properties, and a small construction supply company.
He had friends on the city council.
He donated to the police charity auction every year.
He believed money could turn any problem into an inconvenience.
But Detective Bennett wasn't finished.
"We also recovered footage from a neighboring business. It shows someone entering the rear loading area during the night."
"Who?"
She hesitated.
"The image isn't clear enough for positive identification."
"Show me."
She turned the tablet.
The recording was grainy.
A figure emerged from the loading door shortly after two in the morning.
Someone carrying a small, blanket-wrapped shape.
My throat closed.
Maisie.
The person crossed toward the dumpsters.
Then a second figure appeared.
I leaned closer.
The second person was taller.
Broad-shouldered.
Wearing a dark jacket.
I recognized the way he walked.
"Dad," I whispered.
Detective Bennett said nothing.
The recording continued.
The taller figure opened the middle dumpster.
The first person lifted the bundle.
And then, before the camera lost sight of them, the taller figure turned toward the neighboring building.
For one brief second, his face became visible.
It wasn't Warren.
I gripped the tablet.
"Wait."
Detective Bennett froze the image.
I knew that face.
I had seen him at our engagement party.
I had watched him shake Lucas's hand.
And I had heard my father call him an old family friend.
"That's Gerald Mercer," I said.
Lucas went completely still.
May you like
Because Gerald Mercer wasn't just my father's friend.
He was the private investigator Lucas had hired three months earlier to find Maisie's missing biological father.
