Chapter 7: The Dead Woman's Signature
My father read the message again.
Then he turned the phone toward Robert Hayes, his attorney, as if seeing the words from another angle might somehow make them less impossible.
Ask Tiffany who really wanted Ariana gone before the wedding.
Beneath it sat the photograph of my mother's supposed declaration, bearing her signature and a date four months after her funeral.
Robert studied the image without speaking.
I stood beside the couch, gripping the backrest so tightly that my fingers hurt.
“My mother couldn't have signed that,” I whispered.
Dad looked at me immediately.
“I know, sweetheart.””
“She was already gone.””
“I know.””
“Then why would anyone put her name on something like that?””
Neither man answered.
Robert enlarged the photograph on his phone.
“There's no way to authenticate a signature from a photograph alone,” he said.
“We need the original document, and we need to establish who created it, when it was created, and how this person obtained the information used to prepare it.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“Someone is forging my wife's signature and using it to threaten my daughter.””
“Possibly,” Robert replied carefully.
“But we shouldn't assume the sender is telling us the truth about Tiffany's involvement. This could be an attempt to turn us against her, or it could be someone trying to expose what she's done.””
I looked at the message again.
“Who else knows about the wedding?””
“Hundreds of people,” Dad said.
“Our relatives, business associates, the wedding planner, the caterers, the people helping with the arrangements.””
“But who knows about Mom's papers?””
Dad went quiet.
Then he looked toward the staircase.
“Tiffany.””
Denise, who had been standing near the dining room, shook her head.
“Not just Tiffany.””
We all turned toward her.
She wrapped her arms around herself.
“When I helped her organize the documents for the wedding, she asked me about the storage boxes in the attic. She wanted to know whether your mother's old files were still there.””
Dad stared at her.
“What did you tell her?””
“That most of them were. I thought she wanted to make sure we weren't throwing away anything important.””
“Did she go through them?””
“I don't know. But a few days later, she asked me where you kept your wife's old insurance papers.””
Dad's face hardened.
“Why didn't you mention this earlier?””
“Because I didn't understand what she was doing!”” Denise cried.
“Every time I thought something was strange, she had an explanation. She said she was trying to help you organize your life before the wedding.””
Robert raised a hand.
“Let's establish what we know. Tiffany has allegedly prepared documents concerning Ariana's guardianship. We have a disputed financial authorization.
We have a reference to medical records. And now someone has sent a photograph of a document supposedly signed by Ariana's deceased mother.””
He paused.
“Those facts justify serious concern. They don't yet establish who created the documents or whether any of them have been submitted to an institution.””
Dad nodded, though his expression suggested that patience was becoming increasingly difficult.
“Then let's find the original.””
Robert put the phone away.
“I'll contact the appropriate people in the morning. Tonight, nobody signs anything, nobody destroys anything, and nobody confronts Tiffany alone.””
At the mention of her name, I remembered the sound of the front door slamming.
“Where is she?””
Dad glanced at the clock.
“I don't know.””
He called her.
Straight to voicemail.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Then he sent a message asking her to return so they could discuss the documents with Robert present.
No reply.
I looked toward the front windows.
“She knows we've found everything.””
“Perhaps,” Robert said.
“But we don't know what she knows, and we won't act on assumptions.””
He gathered the papers into a protective folder and made a list of everything we'd discovered.
Before leaving, he spoke privately with Dad about securing the house, reviewing the accounts, and arranging independent advice concerning my inheritance.
Then he turned toward me.
“Ariana, I want you to understand something. None of this is your fault. If someone has been making false claims about you, you don't have to defend yourself against every accusation tonight.””
I nodded.
But the fear had already settled deep inside me.
For months, Tiffany had been trying to convince me that I was the problem.
Now I was beginning to understand that she might have been preparing a version of me that could be used against me long after she stopped pretending to care.
After Robert left, Dad walked me upstairs.
He made sure my bedroom door locked properly, then checked the windows and placed my suitcase beside the closet.
“I want you to sleep in my room tonight if you don't feel safe here,” he said.
“Will you be there?””
“Of course.””
I hesitated.
“Dad?””
“Yes?””
“Did Mom ever tell you she wanted someone else to raise me?””
He sat on the edge of my bed.
“No. Never.””
“Not even when she was sick?””
His eyes filled.
“Your mother talked about you constantly. She worried about your schoolwork, your friendships, whether you were eating enough vegetables. She made me promise that we'd keep your life as normal as possible.””
He reached into his wallet and pulled out a small photograph.
It showed Mom sitting in a hospital chair, wearing a pale pink scarf. I was curled against her side, my face pressed into her shoulder.
“She told me that if anything happened to her, I had to make sure you knew you were loved every single day,” he said.
I touched the photograph.
“Then why does someone want me gone so badly?””
Dad closed his fingers around mine.
“I don't know yet. But I promise you, I will find out.””
That night, I barely slept.
Every time a car passed outside, I sat upright.
Every time the house creaked, I listened.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I stared at the screen for several seconds before opening the message.
Your father doesn't know the whole story about his first wife.
My heart began to pound.
Another message arrived.
Ask him what happened during the final week before she died.
I sat frozen on the bed.
Mom had been sick for nearly a year. I remembered hospital rooms, quiet conversations, and the smell of antiseptic. I remembered Dad sleeping in a chair beside her bed.
I also remembered one night when Dad had stepped outside to take a phone call.
When he'd returned, his face had looked different.
I'd asked him what was wrong.
He'd kissed my forehead and said he was tired.
I had never asked again.
My fingers trembled as I typed a reply.
Who are you?
The answer came almost immediately.
Someone who tried to stop this before it started.
Then a final message appeared.
Your mother discovered something about Tiffany before she died. Khalil never knew what she found.
I jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway.
Dad was sitting in the upstairs lounge with his laptop open, reviewing bank statements and old emails. He looked up when he saw my face.
“Ariana? What's wrong?””
I handed him my phone.
He read the messages.
The color drained from his face.
“Who sent these?””
“I don't know.””
He tried calling the number, but the call wouldn't connect.
Then he studied the first message again.
Ask him what happened during the final week before she died.
He lowered the phone.
I watched him carefully.
“Dad?””
He didn't answer.
“Do you know what they're talking about?””
For several seconds, he stared at the carpet.
Then he closed his laptop.
“There was something that happened during your mother's final week,” he said quietly.
“Something I never told you about because I didn't want you carrying it.””
My chest tightened.
“What happened?””
Dad looked at me, and I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before.
Not anger.
Not guilt.
Fear.
“Your mother asked me to postpone a business trip,” he said.
“She wanted me to stay with her because she'd become worried about someone.””
“Who?””
He swallowed.
“Tiffany.””
I stopped breathing.
Dad continued, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Your mother had met her before I did. And the night before she died, she told me she'd found evidence that Tiffany had been using another name.””
I stared at him.
“Another name?””
He nodded.
“And when I asked what she meant, your mother told me that if anything happened to her, I should never let Tiffany get close to you.””
The room seemed to spin.
“Then why did you marry her?””
Dad shut his eyes.
“Because I didn't know she was the same woman.””
He opened them again.
“And because, Ariana, your mother never got the chance to tell me the name she'd found.””
My phone vibrated in my hand.
A new message.
This time, it contained only four words.
Ask him about the photograph.
Dad looked at the screen.
May you like
Then he whispered something that made my blood turn cold.
“The photograph was missing from your mother's hospital room the morning she died.””
