Chapter 3 - A SIGNATURE IN BLUE INK
I had always thought the most painful thing my children could do was stop visiting.
I was wrong.
It was far worse to see my own signature copied beneath a statement calling me mentally incompetent.
Daniel sent a secure copy of the petition draft to Nora, and she printed it on the cottage's small office printer.
The signature was skillful.
The B curved exactly as mine did, and the final stroke of Mercer trailed downward like a loose ribbon.
But whoever forged it had used the wrong middle initial.
I had stopped using that initial after Patricia died, except on old property documents.
"They copied something from the house," I said.
Nora nodded.
"Something from your filing cabinet."
I thought of Thanksgiving, of Rachel carrying dirty plates into the hallway, of Brittany offering to organize my paperwork while I rested.
It had seemed thoughtful at the time.
Daniel advised us not to contact anyone accused of wrongdoing without a plan.
He engaged a document examiner, preserved the files, and explained that any court process would require evidence and a chance for me to respond.
That afternoon, Adam called.
He wasn't shouting as he had at the lodge.
"Bruce, we made mistakes," he said.
"Which mistakes?"
"The way we talked about the house."
"You mean the part where you discussed selling it before I died?"
He inhaled sharply.
"Rachel's scared. The bank wants updated financials."
"Then give them accurate financials."
"If you don't help, we could lose our home."
For a moment I saw my grandchildren at the dining room table, not my grown children, but the little ones who still believed their parents could solve anything.
"I won't let children go without food or shelter," I answered.
"That doesn't mean I'll secretly subsidize adult luxury spending again."
Adam seized on the first sentence.
"So you'll send the mortgage money?"
"No. If there's a real housing crisis, Daniel can help review options that protect the children without handing you an unrestricted check."
He called me cruel.
Then he said something far more interesting.
"You don't understand what Rachel has already promised Eleanor."
The line went quiet.
"Who is Eleanor?" I asked.
Adam cursed under his breath.
"Forget I said that."
He hung up.
I went back to Patricia's letter.
At the bottom of the second page was a sentence I had overlooked.
Do not blame the children until you know who taught them the price of the deed.
Nora watched me read it.
"Patricia knew Eleanor," she said.
"And Eleanor knew something about your family that your wife was determined to protect."
"What?"
Nora reached for the final page.
May you like
"The truth about Justin's first company."
