Chapter 4 - Thirty-Five Missed Calls
I called Mom.
Not because she had asked thirty-five times.
Because of the photograph.
She answered before the first full ring.
“Amber?”
Her voice sounded nothing like the controlled woman from Lucille.
“Why is my portfolio in Dad’s office?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Please come home.”
“No.”
“Amber, this is serious.”
“So was leaving me with twelve thousand dollars.”
She inhaled sharply.
“Your father made a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“He was trying to motivate you.”
“By blocking my number?”
“He took it too far.”
“You helped him.”
“I didn’t know he would block you.”
“But you knew about the bill.”
Silence again.
That answer hurt less than I expected.
Maybe because I had already known.
“Who is the man with Scott?”
Mom lowered her voice.
“I’m not sure.”
“You sent me the picture.”
“Your father told me to stay upstairs.”
“Then how do you know they’re there?”
Another pause.
“Because Scott arrived furious.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know.”
Behind her, I heard a door close.
Mom whispered:
“Amber, please. Whatever you’ve told Hale, stop.”
I felt something inside me turn cold.
“I didn’t tell them anything about Dad’s business.”
“Then why are they investigating him?”
“Maybe because they found my forged signature.”
Mom stopped breathing.
That silence was different.
“Mom?”
“I have to go.”
She hung up.
I stared at the phone.
She knew.
Maybe not everything.
But something.
I called Evelyn.
Within an hour, I was sitting in the office of an independent attorney named Daniel Reese.
Daniel was in his late forties, direct, calm, and apparently unimpressed by rich people.
After reviewing the documents, he removed his glasses.
“You need to stop talking to your parents about this.”
“They’re my parents.”
“They may also be parties whose interests directly conflict with yours.”
I hated hearing that.
“Do you think my father forged these?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do we know?”
He pointed to the papers.
“We know your shares exist.”
I nodded.
“We know these authorizations were submitted.”
“Yes.”
“We know you say you didn’t sign them.”
“I didn’t.”
“We know Hale Urban independently identified irregularities while reviewing Mitchell Development.”
“Yes.”
“And we know your mother reacted strongly when you mentioned the signatures.”
I looked away.
Daniel continued.
“That is enough to proceed carefully.”
“What should I do?”
“First, secure your personal records.”
“My things are still at their house.”
“Then don’t go alone.”
I thought of Riley.
No.
I would not drag her into this.
Aunt Jennifer offered immediately.
We drove to Highland Park that afternoon.
Dad’s car was gone.
Mom’s was there.
I used my key.
The house felt different.
Not because anything had changed.
Because I had.
Mom appeared from the kitchen.
She looked exhausted.
“Amber.”
“Aunt Jennifer is helping me collect my things.”
Mom saw Jennifer.
Her face tightened.
“You told her?”
Jennifer crossed her arms.
“She called me the night you abandoned her.”
“This is between our family.”
Jennifer’s voice became sharp.
“I am family.”
I walked upstairs.
My bedroom looked untouched.
I packed quickly.
Clothes.
Books.
Art supplies.
Documents.
Then I opened the desk drawer where I kept old financial paperwork.
Empty.
I frowned.
My passport should have been there.
Birth certificate.
College records.
Tax forms.
Everything was missing.
“Mom!”
She appeared upstairs.
“What?”
“Where are my documents?”
“I don’t know.”
“They were here.”
“Maybe you moved them.”
“I didn’t.”
Jennifer stepped into the doorway.
“What documents?”
“All of them.”
Mom’s eyes shifted.
Only for a second.
I saw it.
“Dad took them.”
“No.”
“You just lied.”
“I did not.”
“Where are they?”
Mom’s shoulders sagged.
“Your father keeps important paperwork in the office safe.”
“Why would he put my passport in his safe?”
“He likes knowing things are secure.”
I almost laughed.
“Open it.”
“I don’t know the combination.”
“Mom.”
“I don’t.”
Jennifer said quietly:
“Lauren.”
Mom looked at her sister.
Something passed between them.
Old history.
Old exhaustion.
Finally Mom spoke.
“The combination is your father’s birthday backward.”
We went downstairs.
The safe stood behind a cabinet in Dad’s study.
I opened it.
My passport was there.
My birth certificate.
Tax records.
And a folder with my name.
AMBER — TRUST.
I pulled it out.
Mom stepped forward.
“You shouldn’t take that.”
“Why?”
“It belongs to your father’s office.”
“It has my name on it.”
“Amber.”
I opened it.
Inside were annual trust statements I had never seen.
Voting notices.
Share valuations.
Letters addressed to me at my parents’ home.
Some envelopes had been opened.
Others had never been mailed.
My hands began shaking.
Jennifer whispered:
“Oh my God.”
I looked at Mom.
“How long?”
She shook her head.
“How long have you known?”
“I didn’t understand the details.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Your father handled finances.”
“HOW LONG?”
It was the first time I raised my voice.
Mom flinched.
“Since your grandfather died.”
I stared.
“That was five years ago.”
“You were nineteen.”
“And?”
“You were in school.”
“So you decided I didn’t need to know I owned part of Dad’s company?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
Mom began crying.
I felt almost nothing.
That frightened me.
“He said telling you would distract you.”
“From what?”
“Growing up.”
I looked at the folder.
Grandpa had believed in me more than Dad ever had.
He used to visit art museums with me.
He bought my first real set of charcoal pencils.
He once told Dad at Thanksgiving:
Not every valuable thing fits inside a spreadsheet.
I had forgotten that until now.
“Why did he leave me shares?”
Mom sat down.
“Because he worried about your father.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
Jennifer looked equally shocked.
Mom wiped her face.
“William loved Jason. But they fought during his final year.”
“About what?”
“The company.”
“What about it?”
“Your grandfather thought Jason was taking too much risk.”
My chest tightened.
“What kind of risk?”
“I don’t know.”
Jennifer cut in.
“You know something.”
Mom looked at her sister.
Then at me.
“He borrowed aggressively.”
“How aggressively?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I truly don’t.”
I believed her this time.
Which somehow made things worse.
Mom had participated in my humiliation.
But Dad had apparently kept much of his business hidden even from her.
I put every document into my bag.
Mom reached for my arm.
“Please don’t destroy him.”
I pulled away.
“I’m collecting papers with my own name.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“Your father’s company supports hundreds of employees.”
“I didn’t forge anything.”
“He’s under enormous pressure.”
“So was I when you left me at Lucille.”
Her face collapsed.
“Amber, I’m sorry.”
I waited.
For years I had imagined hearing that.
It felt smaller than expected.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I should have stopped him.”
“Yes.”
“I thought he would go back.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The restaurant.”
“He told me we were leaving you for twenty minutes. He said he wanted you to panic, realize you needed us, and then he would return.”
My stomach turned.
“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Mom looked down.
“Scott convinced him not to.”
Jennifer stepped closer.
“What did Scott say?”
Mom’s voice barely carried.
“He said if Jason rescued Amber, she wouldn’t learn anything.”
I thought of the photograph.
Scott sitting across from Dad with an investigator.
“What is Scott’s role in North Meridian?”
Mom looked confused.
“He helped arrange financing.”
Everything clicked slightly.
Not enough.
But enough to frighten me.
I called Daniel from the driveway.
I explained about the trust folder.
He told me not to photograph or alter anything further and to bring everything directly to him.
We were halfway back to Chicago when my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Daniel had warned me not to answer unfamiliar calls.
I let it go.
A voicemail appeared.
Then a text.
AMBER MITCHELL, THIS IS SCOTT THOMPSON. WE NEED TO SPEAK PRIVATELY BEFORE YOUR FATHER DOES SOMETHING STUPID.
I showed Jennifer.
“Don’t respond.”
I didn’t.
Another message arrived.
YOUR FATHER DIDN’T FORGE YOUR SIGNATURE.
My heart stopped.
Then another.
I KNOW WHO DID.
Jennifer stared at me.
“Call Daniel.”
Before I could, a final message appeared.
And this time it contained a photograph.
It showed the original authorization bearing my fake signature.
At the bottom of the page was a witness line I had never noticed.
One name was written there.
May you like
Lauren Mitchell.
My mother.
