Chapter 2/5
“This was never executed,” Mom said. “It was a draft.” Her gaze remained on the signature section, displaying Dad’s name alongside the attorney’s and Nora’s.
“The original was recovered from an archived client box when the law office moved,” I told her. “This copy is certified. My attorney has the original.”
“Nora contacted you?”
She spoke too quickly to pretend the name meant nothing. Ethan guided the girls toward the breakfast nook while I pulled out the second document.
A forensic examiner had compared Dad’s authenticated signatures with one on the authorization transferring my allocated funds into Ryan’s company. The examiner concluded the disputed signature wasn’t Dad’s. Ink analysis also suggested it had been added after his death.
The witness line bore my mother’s name.
“You signed as witness,” I said.
“I signed hundreds of things for your father.” She straightened the documents against the counter, her familiar habit whenever a messy situation needed to become someone else’s responsibility.
“You witnessed him signing this?”
“You have no idea what was happening then.”
“I’m beginning to.”
I informed her that the civil complaint had been filed Friday. Before she could respond, the doorbell rang, followed by three forceful knocks.
Mom grabbed my wrist. “Before Ryan says anything, you need to understand that he doesn’t know everything.”
Then his voice sounded from outside. “Mara! Open up! I brought the bank statements!”
She released me. I went to the entrance and found Ryan wearing jeans and work boots, clutching a thick folder. Kelsey stood beside him, without their twins.
“You could’ve answered my calls,” he said.
“You could’ve asked before planning to move into my house.”
He frowned. “Mom said you offered.”
I moved aside, glancing toward her. Kelsey explained Mom had shown them messages, then unlocked her phone and displayed screenshots supposedly written by me.
The messages claimed I had excess space, wanted to move past old disputes, and invited them to stay for a year. The wording sounded disturbingly familiar, but I’d never sent them.
“I didn’t send these,” I said.
Ryan faced Mom. She claimed she’d only tried to reunite us because we weren’t speaking.
“By pretending to be me?” I asked.
“I did what mothers do!”
Ethan spoke softly beside the girls. “You made a decision for her and misrepresented it.” When Mom insisted it was family business, he put an arm around Grace. “So am I.”
Ryan placed the folder on the island. “Then explain this.”
The statements spanned almost four years. After his landscaping company collapsed, Mom had told Ryan the estate had overpaid him and that I demanded reimbursement for my share.
“I’ve been paying it back,” he said. “Two hundred here, five hundred there. Tax refunds. My warehouse bonus. Whatever we could spare.”
Kelsey examined the statements. “We skipped vacations for two years.”
Mom ordered Ryan to stop, but he pointed to the recipient: M. Whitmore Restoration Account. Briefly, I wondered whether she’d secretly been trying to undo her damage.
Then I recognized the routing number. Nora and my attorney had shown it to me two weeks earlier. The account belonged entirely to Diane.
“How much?” I asked.
“About seventy-eight thousand.” Ryan swallowed. “I thought I was paying you back.”
Seeing those modest payments from ordinary wages, I felt my anger shift. For years, I’d believed he hadn’t repaid anything, while he thought I’d been receiving his money.
Mom backed away, mentioning taxes, expenses, and legal fees. This time, neither of us looked away.
