Chapter 3 - THE SIGNATURE
“That isn't mine.”
Miriam moved her coffee away from the laptop.
“Don't touch anything else.”
The signature looked right.
The sharp C, the crowded letters, the line I dragged beneath my last name.
Someone had copied me carefully enough to make my own hand look like a liar.
“Could Daniel sign under the proxy?” I asked.
“He could vote within its limits. He couldn't pledge your personally held shares as collateral. This document says you approved it yourself.”
My phone lit up again.
A message from Daniel.
You sign so many things. Don't embarrass yourself.
Miriam photographed the screen and requested certified copies from the board secretary.
Then she called Evelyn Price, the longest-serving independent director.
When she joined the call, her voice was tight.
“Claire, I was told you approved the refinancing.”
“I didn't.”
“And the restructuring?”
“I was told it meant new software and fewer outside consultants.”
Nobody answered for several seconds.
Finally, Evelyn said, “It includes selling the original manufacturing division.”
My father's division.
The building where he had taught me to read a balance sheet over sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.
Three hundred and twelve jobs.
“Who is buying it?”
“A fund called Harbor Ridge.”
Miriam wrote the name down.
“Send everything you received. Through counsel. Nothing through Daniel's office.”
After the call, I went upstairs and found his suitcase beside mine.
He had packed for Paris.
Three shirts, shaving cream, the watch I gave him for our fifth anniversary.
It hurt worse than an empty drawer would have.
He had planned to keep taking what I offered until the minute he no longer needed it.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
A young woman stood on the porch clutching a paper grocery bag.
I recognized the receptionist whose smile had vanished at the party.
“My name's Nora Bennett,” she said.
“I work in finance. I was covering the front desk for lunch.”
She glanced toward the street.
“I saw you leave. Then I saw what they did upstairs.”
“What did they do?”
She held out the bag.
May you like
Inside lay a torn blue file cover and a bundle of loose invoices.
“They told me to shred these.”
