Chapter 7 - THE SIGNATURE AFTER HER DEATH
“Two days after Sarah died?”
I gripped the edge of my desk.
Rebecca confirmed the date.
“November 16. At 9:42 in the morning.”
“That can't be right.”
“The record exists.”
“Who was in my office?”
“We're checking.”
I stared at Sarah's photograph.
For three years, I had believed the worst day of my life was the night I lost my wife.
Now I was learning that someone may have exploited the days immediately afterward.
Days when I barely ate.
When I couldn't remember conversations.
When friends and relatives moved through our home bringing casseroles and condolences.
When Michael handled business matters because I couldn't.
I closed my eyes.
“Rebecca, could the records have been altered?”
“Possibly. But first we need to establish who controlled the credentials.”
I remembered something.
My executive token had been kept inside a small black leather case.
Sarah knew where it was.
Michael occasionally used it with my permission for urgent transactions.
After the funeral, I had barely looked at it.
“Michael had access,” I said.
Rebecca remained quiet.
Then she answered, “That gives us a reason to investigate. It doesn't establish that he used it.”
She was right.
I couldn't afford another mistake.
Especially one that destroyed what remained of my family.
When I returned to the sunroom, Lily was asleep on the sofa.
Mrs. Parker had covered her with a yellow blanket.
I stood watching my daughter.
She looked so small.
One hand rested beneath her cheek.
Her pink purse lay beside her.
I thought about what Victoria had said.
About Sarah's secret locker.
About Michael.
And about the money meant for children who needed medical care.
I felt sick at the possibility that people close to me had stolen from families already facing unimaginable burdens.
At eleven thirty, Michael arrived.
He entered through the front doors carrying a small gift bag.
“Where's my favorite niece?”
His familiar smile nearly undid me.
“She’s resting.”
He looked around at the wedding decorations.
“Wow. Tough morning?”
“You could say that.”
He set the bag on a table.
“I brought Lily something. A puzzle.”
I nodded.
“Come into the library.”
He followed me.
When I closed the door, he looked concerned.
“Daniel, you're scaring me.”
“Did you visit Victoria yesterday?”
His smile faded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She asked me to help with something.”
“What?”
He shifted his weight.
“Wedding arrangements.”
“In Sarah's sewing room?”
Michael stared at me.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he sighed.
“Okay. She wanted help finding some old family documents.”
“What documents?”
“She said there was a key.”
I watched his face.
“What kind of key?”
“I don't know.”
I placed the brass key on the desk.
Michael's eyes immediately moved toward it.
“That one?”
“Maybe.”
He stepped closer.
“Where did you find it?”
“In Lily's purse.”
His expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
I felt something settle heavily in my chest.
“You knew Lily had it.”
Michael rubbed his forehead.
“Daniel, there's more going on than you understand.”
“Then explain it.”
He sat down.
“Victoria came to me six weeks ago. She claimed Sarah had left information that could damage the company.”
“What information?”
“Financial records.”
I stared at him.
“And you didn't tell me?”
Michael looked miserable.
“Because I thought she was trying to blackmail us.”
“Us?”
“The family.”
I leaned forward.
“Michael, did you approve charity payments through a company authorization code?”
His face went pale.
“What?”
“D-17.”
He stared at me.
Then he looked away.
I felt my pulse pounding.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
The word seemed to drain the air from the room.
I sat back.
Michael covered his face.
“Daniel, I can explain.”
“Then do it.”
He took a long breath.
“Three years ago, the charity had serious financial problems. Stephen Whitmore came to me with a proposal to advance money through a vendor program.”
“Victoria's father.”
“Yes.”
“Did you approve the payments?”
“Some of them.”
“How much?”
“About eighty thousand dollars.”
I stared at him.
“Eighty thousand?”
“It was supposed to be temporary. The charity would repay the company after a grant came through.”
“Was there a signed agreement?”
Michael looked down.
“No.”
I felt anger rise.
“You transferred company money without documentation?”
“I was trying to help!”
“Then why did you use a false name?”
He looked up sharply.
“What false name?”
“David Mercer.”
Michael went still.
“That wasn't me.”
“Victoria says the transactions were approved under that name.”
He shook his head.
“I've never used that name.”
I studied him.
“Then who did?”
Michael swallowed.
“I don't know.”
“Did Sarah discover the payments?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
“What did she say?”
“She was furious.”
I could imagine it.
Sarah standing in my office.
Her arms folded.
Her voice controlled.
Demanding to know why people were treating charitable donations like private loans.
“She told me to reverse them,” Michael continued.
“Did you?”
“I started trying.”
“Started?”
“The money had already been moved through multiple vendor accounts.”
I stood.
“You should have come to me.”
“I know.”
“Sarah was my wife.”
Michael's eyes filled.
“And she was my sister-in-law. I loved her.”
I wanted to believe him.
Perhaps part of me still did.
But affection didn't erase responsibility.
“Where were you on November 16, three years ago?”
Michael frowned.
“Why?”
“Someone used my executive token from my office that morning.”
His face changed.
“I was there.”
I gripped the desk.
“Doing what?”
“Handling emergency company matters. You'd asked me to keep things running.”
“Did you use my token?”
Michael hesitated.
“Yes.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“For what?”
“Authorizing payroll and scheduled vendor payments.”
“And the charity transaction?”
“I didn't know about that one.”
I watched him carefully.
He seemed genuinely frightened.
But I had mistaken fear for innocence before.
“Who else was there?”
Michael thought.
“Your assistant. A couple of senior managers.”
“Anyone connected to the charity?”
He looked toward the window.
Then his eyes widened.
“Stephen Whitmore.”
I stared at him.
“Victoria's father was in my office?”
“He came to discuss an outstanding invoice.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Daniel, it was three years ago. I didn't know you'd ever need to remember.”
I sat slowly.
A knock sounded at the library door.
Mrs. Parker stepped inside.
“Mr. Daniel, Lily is awake. She's asking for you.”
I rose immediately.
Michael stood, too.
“Can I see her?”
I hesitated.
My brother looked hurt.
“Daniel?”
“Not right now.”
The pain in his face was real.
But so was my daughter's fear.
I couldn't take chances.
I walked toward the door.
Before leaving, I turned.
“Michael, did Victoria ask you to take Lily anywhere last week?”
His face went white.
“Yes.”
My heart dropped.
“Why?”
“She wanted me to bring Lily to a photographer.”
“A photographer?”
“She said she needed pictures for some paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
Michael looked confused.
“Family identification documents.”
I stared at him.
“Did you see them?”
“No.”
I remembered Rebecca's warning about the guardianship request.
A terrible possibility formed.
Victoria had been preparing legal arrangements involving my daughter without my knowledge.
I walked into the hallway, barely hearing Michael call after me.
Lily stood near the staircase holding her pink purse.
When she saw me, she ran forward.
“Daddy!”
I lifted her.
She buried her face in my shoulder.
Then she whispered, “I remembered something.”
“What, sweetheart?”
“Uncle Michael gave Victoria a yellow envelope.”
I looked toward the library.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What was inside?”
Lily shook her head.
“But Victoria got mad.”
“Why?”
“She said it was the wrong paper.”
I kissed her hair.
“That's okay, baby.”
Then Lily reached into her purse.
She pulled out a small folded photograph I hadn't noticed before.
It had been tucked inside the lining.
“Miss Margaret said this one is important.”
I opened it carefully.
The photograph showed Sarah standing outside a small brick building.
Beside her stood Michael.
And between them was a man I had never seen before.
May you like
On the back, in Sarah's handwriting, were six words.
Ask Michael who David Mercer really is.
