Chapter 5 - The Signature
Elise answered Rebecca’s call on the first ring.
“No,” she said before Rebecca could finish.
“No what?”
“I never notarized anything for Margaret Lewis.”
Rebecca put the call on speaker.
“Your seal is on a sworn statement.”
“My seal?”
“Yes.”
“What statement?”
Rebecca read the document aloud.
Elise began crying.
“I didn’t do that.”
“Is that your notary number?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your stamp?”
There was silence.
Then:
“Daniel has it.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Why?”
Elise’s voice shook.
“He said he needed to make copies of some closing documents.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Did you give him your notary journal?”
“No.”
“Has he ever used your stamp before?”
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca’s voice sharpened.
“Elise, think carefully.”
A long pause.
“He asked me once how difficult it was to notarize something if the signer wasn’t physically present.”
Miguel cursed softly.
“What did you say?” Rebecca asked.
“I told him it was illegal.”
“And?”
“He laughed and said it was hypothetical.”
Nothing Daniel did felt hypothetical anymore.
Elise agreed to meet us at Rebecca’s office.
By noon, the conference room looked like the command center of a war.
Documents covered the table.
A timeline filled the whiteboard.
Natalie’s death.
Daniel’s first marriage.
Missing money.
Richard Collins.
RMC Ventures.
The condo.
Elise.
My forged signature.
The home-equity line.
The life-insurance policy.
The false notarized statement.
Everything pointed in one direction.
Preparation.
Daniel had not lost control in our foyer.
He had been losing control of a plan.
My mother had accidentally found a piece of it.
Rebecca asked Elise to hand over her phone.
“Voluntarily,” she clarified.
Elise nodded.
“I want this finished.”
Miguel copied messages.
Some were painful.
Daniel telling Elise he loved her.
Daniel promising they would travel after “everything settled.”
Daniel claiming I was emotionally unstable.
Daniel saying I had refused divorce because I wanted his money.
All lies.
Then a message from six months earlier appeared.
Daniel: Policy approved.
Elise: What policy?
Daniel: Business insurance.
Elise: On you?
Daniel: Something like that.
My stomach turned.
“Something like that.”
Rebecca photographed the screen.
A month later:
Elise: When are you telling Claire?
Daniel: Soon.
Elise: You keep saying soon.
Daniel: Timing matters.
Then three weeks ago:
Daniel: Margaret is becoming a problem.
Elise: Claire’s mom?
Daniel: She notices too much.
Mom closed her eyes.
Rebecca asked, “Did you know what he meant?”
Elise shook her head.
“No. I thought he meant she was asking questions about us.”
Another message appeared.
Daniel: Need your stamp again.
Elise: Why?
Daniel: Corporate filing.
Elise: Bring it back tonight.
Daniel: Tomorrow.
He had not returned it.
Rebecca looked at me.
“This is no longer just a divorce case.”
Detective Price arrived an hour later.
He reviewed everything.
The false statement bothered him most.
Forgery.
Fraud.
Identity theft.
Possible insurance fraud.
Possible financial crimes.
And hanging over everything was Natalie Pierce.
“Can you reopen her case?” I asked.
“Not by myself.”
“What does that mean?”
“We need new evidence tied directly to her death.”
“Isn’t the pattern enough?”
“Pattern gives us reason to look. It doesn’t prove homicide.”
I hated the word.
Homicide.
Rebecca asked, “What about the notebook Evan mentioned?”
Price nodded.
“If it exists and we can find it, that could matter.”
We called Evan again.
He told us Natalie had once hidden things in a storage locker near her apartment.
Police searched the locker after her death.
Nothing useful.
“Who had access?” Price asked.
“Daniel.”
“Anyone else?”
“Me.”
“Did you check it before police?”
“No.”
“When you arrived?”
“It was nearly empty.”
“What was missing?”
“Boxes.”
“Could Daniel have removed them?”
“Yes.”
A thought struck me.
“Where did Daniel live after Natalie died?”
Evan said, “He moved.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere near Baltimore.”
“Did he take furniture?”
“Yes.”
“Storage boxes?”
“Probably.”
I looked at Mom.
She understood before I spoke.
“Our attic.”
Daniel and I had dozens of old boxes in our attic.
He always said they were college things.
Books.
Old tax files.
Sports memorabilia.
I had never opened them.
Rebecca saw my expression.
“No.”
“What?”
“You are not going back to that house.”
“But the boxes—”
“Police can search.”
Price nodded.
“If we have sufficient cause.”
“How long?”
“I’ll move quickly.”
I hated waiting.
The house contained answers.
Daniel controlled the house.
Every hour felt dangerous.
Then my phone buzzed.
A security notification.
Motion detected at front entrance.
Our camera app still worked.
I opened it.
Daniel walked out carrying two cardboard boxes.
My blood froze.
“Those.”
“What?”
“Those are from the attic.”
Price stood.
“Send me that video.”
Daniel loaded the boxes into his SUV.
I switched cameras.
Driveway.
He shut the rear hatch.
Got behind the wheel.
Then drove away.
Price called another officer.
“We need eyes on Walker’s vehicle.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“If those boxes contain Natalie’s records…”
“He knows we’re looking.”
Price shook his head.
“No. He knows something changed.”
“How?”
“Maybe he saw the filing.”
“Or someone warned him.”
Everyone looked at Elise.
She recoiled.
“I didn’t.”
“I believe you,” I said.
And I did.
Daniel’s world was larger than we understood.
Clients.
Business associates.
Accountants.
Attorneys.
Maybe others.
Someone had helped him.
Forgery was hard.
Moving money was easier with cooperation.
Fake insurance records were harder.
The medical exam bothered Rebecca.
She had requested underwriting files.
They arrived late afternoon.
The policy application included bloodwork.
Blood pressure.
Weight.
Medical history.
All mine.
“How?”
I stared at the results.
I recognized some values.
I had undergone routine bloodwork at my doctor’s office seven months earlier.
Rebecca asked the insurer where the lab results came from.
The answer:
North Valley Medical Labs.
Same laboratory my doctor used.
Someone had obtained my legitimate records.
The insurer believed I had authorized release.
The authorization carried my forged signature.
Again.
Rebecca leaned back.
“Daniel didn’t need to fake the medical exam. He stole the data.”
“How?”
“We find that next.”
Detective Price called at 4:40.
They had located Daniel’s SUV.
It was parked outside RMC Ventures’ registered office.
A warehouse.
Price obtained authorization to approach but could not search without a warrant.
Daniel was inside.
Twenty minutes later, another vehicle arrived.
A black sedan.
A man stepped out.
Price sent Rebecca a photograph.
We gathered around her phone.
The man was probably sixty.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
Miguel recognized him.
“Scott Brennan.”
“Daniel’s divorce attorney?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Why is his divorce lawyer meeting him at a warehouse?”
Then a third vehicle arrived.
A white van.
No company markings.
Two men loaded the boxes from Daniel’s SUV into it.
Price’s officers followed when it left.
The van drove twenty-seven miles.
Then pulled behind a commercial shredding company.
Rebecca stood.
“No.”
Price called before we could react.
“We stopped them.”
“Do you have the boxes?”
“Yes.”
“Can you open them?”
“Not until the warrant clears.”
“How long?”
“Judge is reviewing it.”
For the first time in days, I felt hope.
A small, dangerous hope.
At 7:12 p.m., the warrant came through.
Price opened the first box.
Old tax files.
College yearbooks.
Receipts.
Nothing.
The second box contained folders.
One label read:
N. PIERCE.
Price called us over video.
He opened it.
Inside were insurance documents.
Bank statements.
Photographs.
Letters.
Then a handwritten notebook.
Evan had been right.
Natalie’s notebook.
Price put on gloves.
He opened the first page.
Natalie’s handwriting filled the paper.
I could not read everything through the video.
Then Price turned to the final entries.
A sentence was underlined twice.
Daniel says accidents happen when people ask too many questions.
My skin went cold.
Another entry.
He wants me to sign insurance papers. I refused.
Another.
He says I already signed them.
Another.
Richard told me Daniel is moving money through companies that don’t exist.
Then the final dated entry.
I am going to the cabin with Daniel tomorrow. I told Evan I would call him when I arrive. If I don’t—
The sentence ended there.
No period.
No ending.
Price stopped reading.
Rebecca whispered, “That’s enough for probable cause.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man whispered:
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t know me.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Thomas Reed.”
I looked at Rebecca.
She shook her head.
The man continued.
“I worked with Richard Collins.”
My heart accelerated.
“What do you want?”
“To tell you the truth.”
“About what?”
“Your husband.”
“Then tell me.”
He breathed heavily.
“Not over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel doesn’t know I’m alive.”
The line went dead.
Thirty seconds later, an address appeared in a text.
Below it:
Come alone.
May you like
Then another message.
I have the original copy of Natalie’s last letter.
