Chương 8
Christopher’s name appeared beneath a paragraph describing him as an early financial contributor and strategic adviser.
Savannah scrolled.
Five percent upon a qualifying liquidity event or controlling investment.
Her stomach turned.
Then she saw the signature.
It looked like hers.
Not vaguely.
Not approximately.
It looked enough like hers to trouble someone who had seen her sign hundreds of documents.
Beatrice leaned closer.
“Did you sign that?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
Savannah looked at her.
“Because I did not give your son five percent of my company.”
“I mean the paper.”
“No.”
Beatrice folded her arms.
“You’ve signed things without reading them.”
Savannah’s eyes narrowed.
“So has Christopher.”
“I’m not defending him.”
“You’ve been defending him since I met you.”
Beatrice flinched.
The reaction was small but real.
Savannah looked back at the screen.
The page carried two witness signatures.
One belonged to Mark Ellison.
The other belonged to a name Savannah had not seen in years.
Elaine Porter.
Her former office manager.
Savannah sat down.
Beatrice noticed the change.
“Who is that?”
“Someone who worked for me.”
“Would she remember?”
Savannah did not answer.
Elaine remembered everything.
That had once been a joke in the office.
She remembered birthdays nobody celebrated, printer passwords nobody wrote down, the exact date a vendor promised a refund, and which investor preferred sparkling water even when he claimed not to care.
She had left the company after her husband got sick and moved to North Carolina.
They exchanged Christmas cards for three years.
Then even that stopped.
Savannah touched Elaine’s signature on the screen.
It looked real too.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from her attorney, Rachel Kim.
CALL ME BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING ELSE TO ANYONE.
Savannah stared at the message.
Beatrice read it over her shoulder.
“You should call her.”
“I know.”
“Then call her.”
Savannah looked up.
The abrupt alignment between them felt wrong.
Beatrice must have felt it too because she stepped back.
“I’m making coffee.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“I know what time it is.”
“You hate coffee.”
“I changed my mind.”
Savannah watched her fill the machine incorrectly.
After three attempts, Beatrice swore.
Savannah almost laughed.
Instead, she took the filter from her.
“You’re putting it in backward.”
“I’ve never used this monstrosity.”
“You bought it.”
“I thought it looked nice.”
Savannah fixed the filter.
For thirty seconds, they stood beside each other without mentioning Christopher.
The machine hissed.
Beatrice stared at it.
“Do you think he forged your signature?”
Savannah looked at the coffee dripping into the pot.
“I don’t know.”
She hated saying it.
The morning had already taken too many things she thought she knew.
Rachel answered immediately.
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
“Who’s there?”
“Beatrice.”
A pause.
“Can she hear you?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice picked up her cup.
“I can leave.”
Rachel said, “Good.”
Beatrice’s mouth tightened.
“This is still my son.”
Savannah said nothing.
Beatrice carried her coffee toward the living room.
At the doorway, she stopped.
“Savannah.”
“What?”
“If he forged something like that, I didn’t know.”
Savannah looked at her.
“I don’t know whether I believe you.”
Beatrice swallowed.
“That’s fair.”
She left.
Rachel began speaking before Savannah could process the exchange.
“I got Mark’s email.”
“The agreement is fake.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe.”
“Savannah.”
“I did not sign it.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why are you saying maybe?”
“Because belief is not evidence.”
Savannah gripped the edge of the counter.
Rachel continued.
“The document is a problem because it has what appears to be your signature, two witness signatures, and language consistent with documents from that era.”
“Consistent how?”
“The company name, address, capitalization terms.”
“Someone could find those.”
“Some of them, yes.”
“Christopher had access to old records.”
“Exactly.”
Savannah frowned.
Rachel’s tone had changed.
“You found something.”
“I found three things.”
Savannah straightened.
Rachel said, “First, the font used in one paragraph was released after the date printed on the agreement.”
Savannah stopped breathing for a beat.
“Are you sure?”
“My paralegal caught it.”
Relief hit so quickly that Savannah had to sit down.
Rachel did not let it last.
“Second, the metadata on the file Mark received indicates it was created six weeks ago.”
Savannah closed her eyes.
“Then we’re done.”
“No.”
The relief vanished.
“Why not?”
“Because that only proves this digital copy is recent.”
“It proves he made it.”
“It does not.”
“Rachel.”
“I need you to listen.”
Savannah pressed her lips together.
“The third thing is worse.”
“What?”
“One of the witness signatures is almost certainly authentic.”
Savannah looked at Elaine Porter’s name.
“Which one?”
“Mark’s.”
“That makes no sense.”
“He just admitted Christopher sent it three weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“So how can his signature be on an eleven-year-old agreement?”
Rachel was quiet for a moment.
“Because Mark says he signed a blank witness page for Christopher eleven years ago.”
Savannah stared at the kitchen wall.
The refrigerator dropped another tray of ice.
“Why would he do that?”
“Christopher told him it was for a personal loan acknowledgment.”
Savannah’s mouth went dry.
Rachel continued.
“Mark says he didn’t see the completed document.”
“Can he prove that?”
“No.”
“Wonderful.”
“There’s more.”
Savannah almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“Elaine Porter’s signature may be real too.”
Savannah stood.
“What?”
“I called the number from an old personnel file.”
“You contacted Elaine?”
“She returned my call five minutes ago.”
Savannah gripped the phone.
“What did she say?”
Rachel paused.
“She remembers signing something for Christopher.”
Savannah went completely still.
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“Did she read it?”
“She says no.”
Savannah closed her eyes.
Two authentic signatures.
One false document.
One husband who had apparently been collecting pieces for more than a decade.
Rachel lowered her voice.
“Savannah, whatever Christopher planned, he did not start planning it three weeks ago.”
May you like
Savannah opened her eyes and looked toward the living room where Beatrice sat alone with untouched coffee.
For the first time that morning, the missing forty thousand dollars no longer felt like the largest thing Christopher had stolen.
