Chương 11
My name.
Not my handwriting.
Below it was a deposit stamp from an Indiana bank.
Eleanor handed me the phone.
I stared at the false signature.
It looked familiar.
Not because it resembled mine.
Because I had seen the same slant and the same exaggerated loop in the C less than an hour earlier.
On the affidavit.
Whoever had forged my signature for Chloe's lie had copied a forgery that was twenty-seven years old.
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
The cathedral had become so quiet that I could hear the faint buzz of one fluorescent fixture somewhere beyond the side chapel.
Eleanor took her phone back and enlarged the scan.
"That signature is the same."
"It is close," I said.
"It's the same hand."
"I said it's close."
She looked at me.
"You think I'm wrong?"
"I think twenty-seven years is a long time, and I think people see what they expect to see when they're frightened."
Chloe stared at me.
"You still do that."
"What?"
"Turn everything into a bank investigation."
"I spent thirty-four years watching people panic because numbers scared them."
"This isn't numbers."
"No."
I looked at the false endorsement.
"That's why I'm trying not to panic."
Eleanor lowered the phone.
Her breathing had steadied, but I could see anger beneath it now.
Not the social anger she had shown when the wedding collapsed.
This was colder.
"What was the Indiana bank?"
I asked.
She opened the scan again.
"Midwest Federal Savings."
"Does it still exist?"
"I don't know."
Chloe pulled out her phone.
Eleanor immediately said, "Don't search anything."
Chloe froze.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what Lauren can see."
"She can't see my browser history."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you."
"Both of you."
They stopped.
I pointed at Eleanor's phone.
"Forward the scan to me."
She did.
The message arrived a second later.
Seeing the image on my own screen made it feel worse.
The account number was partially visible beneath the deposit stamp.
I zoomed in.
Most of it had been blurred by age and compression, but the branch number was clear.
I knew Midwest Federal Savings.
Not personally.
But banks had family trees.
Mergers, acquisitions, failures, reorganizations.
Employees who stayed in the industry long enough remembered who bought whom.
"Midwest Federal was acquired."
Eleanor looked at me.
"By who?"
"First Heartland, I think."
"When?"
"Early two-thousands."
"Can they trace it?"
"Maybe."
Chloe leaned forward.
"Wouldn't records that old be gone?"
"Some will be."
I looked at the scan.
"Some won't."
Eleanor straightened.
"Then we call them."
"No."
Her mouth tightened.
"Why not?"
"Because we do not call a random customer-service number and announce that we're investigating a possible fraud from 1999."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I know someone."
Chloe gave me a tired look.
"Of course you know someone."
I almost smiled.
"His name is Curtis Bell."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"Bell?"
"Not your sixth-grade teacher."
"Good."
"He worked compliance at First Heartland after the acquisition."
"Still does?"
"Retired."
"Will he help?"
"I don't know."
"Can you call him?"
"Yes."
I found his number.
The last time we had spoken was nearly four years earlier when he sent me a photograph of a tomato the size of a softball because retirement had apparently turned him into a competitive gardener.
I called.
He answered on the fifth ring.
"Clara?"
"Hi, Curtis."
"Well, either somebody died or you finally admit my tomatoes are better than yours."
Despite everything, I laughed.
"I don't grow tomatoes."
"Exactly why I'm winning."
I turned slightly away from Chloe and Eleanor.
"I need to ask you something about Midwest Federal."
His tone changed.
"That sounds less fun."
"It is."
"You in trouble?"
"I don't know yet."
A pause.
"What year?"
"1999."
He whistled.
"You're trying to ruin my Saturday."
"It's Tuesday."
"Retirement."
I heard a cupboard close on his end.
"What do you have?"
"A cashier's check deposited into a Midwest Federal account."
"Branch?"
I read the number.
Curtis went quiet.
"Indianapolis."
"You remember it?"
"Everybody remembered that branch."
"Why?"
"Small place, sloppy controls."
He paused.
"Closed after the merger."
Eleanor moved closer.
I held up a finger.
"Can account ownership still be traced?"
"Not by me."
"Could the bank?"
"Possibly, depending on how the records migrated."
"What would they need?"
"Original item number, account number, legal request if you're not the account holder."
"What if the check was payable to me?"
"Then you might have standing to request an investigation."
"Might?"
"Clara, I'm retired, not your lawyer."
"I know."
"Is this identity theft?"
I looked at the false signature.
"Maybe."
He exhaled.
"Then don't start with the bank."
"Why?"
"Start with a lawyer."
Eleanor shifted impatiently.
Curtis continued.
"If you walk into a branch with a twenty-seven-year-old check, some manager is going to call fraud, fraud will call legal, legal will tell everyone to stop talking."
"That sounds familiar."
"Because banks don't like giving people rope."
"I need the records."
"Then you need someone who knows how to ask."
I looked at Eleanor.
"Do you know anyone at First Heartland?"
She nodded.
"Board level?"
Another nod.
Curtis laughed quietly.
"You brought rich people."
"Apparently."
"Then let the rich people make one useful phone call."
Eleanor heard that.
Her mouth twitched.
"Thanks, Curtis."
"Clara."
"Yes?"
"If this is your signature and you didn't sign it, don't let anybody talk you into treating it like an old clerical mistake."
His voice had lost all humor.
"Old fraud is still fraud."
"I understand."
"And don't send me anything."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because if this becomes a case, I don't want some attorney asking why retired Curtis Bell had copies of evidence on his personal email."
"Fair."
"Call me when you can tell me something that doesn't involve federal retention schedules."
"And I still have tomatoes."
I ended the call.
Chloe looked at me.
"I like him."
"You've never met him."
"I like him anyway."
Eleanor was already searching contacts.
"Who are you calling?"
May you like
"Gerald Wu."
"Who is Gerald Wu?"
