Chapter 6 - THE SIGNATURE THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST
“My mother didn't sign that.”
The words came out louder than I intended.
Everyone in the library looked at me.
I stood beside Anthony's desk, staring at the scanned signature.
My mother had struggled to sign a birthday card two months earlier.
Yet there was her full name, perfectly written, approving an eighteen-million-dollar property transaction.
Luca looked toward Marco.
“Get a copy of the original agreement. And contact the closing agent. We need to preserve everything.”
Anthony shook his head.
“The closing agent works with Bellini's attorney.”
“Then we go through the city records.”
Vanessa reached for her phone.
“I'll call my father.”
Luca stopped her.
“Not yet.”
She stared at him.
“Luca, he's my father.”
“And this document appears to carry two unauthorized signatures.”
“He may have an explanation.”
“Then he'll have an opportunity to provide one.”
Vanessa's voice sharpened.
“You don't understand what you're asking me to do.”
Luca looked at her for a long moment.
“I'm asking you to stop protecting him long enough to learn the truth.”
She stepped away.
I watched her expression change.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that marrying Luca would not protect her from the choices she'd made.
Anthony closed the laptop.
“We have one more problem.”
Luca turned.
“What?”
“The redevelopment sale includes a waiver of all historic claims connected to Pier Nine.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Anthony looked at me.
“If the agreement stands, your mother may lose the right to pursue certain claims arising from the old accident.”
My stomach twisted.
“So the scholarship money and my grandfather's compensation would disappear?”
“Not automatically,” Anthony said. “But the waiver could make recovery much harder.”
Luca leaned over the desk.
“And Bellini planned to close Friday.”
“Yes.”
It was Wednesday.
We had less than two days.
Luca turned toward Marco.
“Arrange a meeting with the municipal project officer today. We need to challenge those signatures before closing.”
I looked at him.
“I'm coming.”
He hesitated.
“Claire—”
“That's my mother's name on that paper.”
He nodded.
“Then you're coming.”
That afternoon, we sat in a city conference room overlooking the Chicago River.
The project officer, Helen Price, was a silver-haired woman who looked unimpressed by Luca's reputation.
She examined the document.
“If these signatures weren't authorized, the transaction must be reviewed.”
Anthony leaned forward.
“How quickly?”
“We can flag the closing and request verification.”
Luca asked, “Will that stop it?”
“It may delay the transfer while the matter is investigated. I can't promise an outcome today.”
I appreciated her honesty.
She turned toward me.
“Does your mother have any record showing she refused the agreement?”
I thought of Anthony visiting our apartment.
The flowers.
The offered settlement.
“She rejected a release six weeks ago.”
“Did she do that in writing?”
“No.”
Helen nodded.
“Then we need a statement from her, if she's willing and able.”
I felt sick.
My mother was recovering from a stroke.
Now strangers would ask her to explain financial papers she'd never seen.
Luca seemed to read my face.
“We'll make sure she has independent advice,” he said.
Helen looked at him.
“That's important. Your family's interests may not be identical to hers.”
Luca didn't argue.
Outside, Anthony stopped beside the elevators.
“Claire.”
I turned.
“I owe you an apology.”
I looked at him.
“For threatening my job?”
“Yes.”
“For frightening your mother?”
“Yes.”
“For trying to pay my mother twenty thousand dollars to go away?”
He looked down.
“That too.”
I waited.
Anthony rubbed his hands together.
“I thought I was protecting the family.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“But you weren't protecting us.”
His eyes filled.
“No. I wasn't.”
I walked past him.
Some apologies needed time before they meant anything.
When we returned to the mansion, Elizabeth was waiting in the morning room.
She had removed the old brown handbag's lining completely.
A few loose threads lay on the table.
“Claire,” she said, “I found something.”
She held up a narrow paper receipt.
It was dated eight years earlier.
The handwriting belonged to Giovanni Moretti.
Payment to Margaret Bennett — received by A.M.
Below was an amount.
$180,000.
I stared at it.
“My mother never received that.”
Elizabeth looked toward Anthony.
Neither of us spoke.
Anthony took the receipt.
His face changed.
“I know this payment.”
Luca stepped closer.
“Explain.”
“Dad asked me to deliver it.”
“Did you?”
Anthony shook his head.
“Not directly.”
I felt my anger rising.
“Where did you take it?”
“To the bank. Dad wanted the money placed in a protected account for Margaret.”
“Why?”
“Because she had a young daughter and was struggling after her divorce. He thought a trust would keep the funds safe for both of you.”
I stared at him.
“A trust?”
Anthony nodded.
“The account was established before Dad died.”
Luca frowned.
“Why haven't we seen it?”
“Because it wasn't part of the family foundation.”
Elizabeth touched the rose clasp.
“I remember Giovanni saying Margaret wouldn't have to beg anyone for help.”
Anthony looked devastated.
“The account should still exist.”
I thought of my mother worrying over grocery bills.
Borrowing money to pay for therapy.
Selling her wedding ring when the furnace broke.
“If it exists,” I asked, “why couldn't my mother use it?”
Anthony opened the old account records.
He searched for several minutes.
Then he stopped.
“Here.”
A statement appeared on the screen.
The account had received the original $180,000 deposit.
Over the years, investment gains had increased it substantially.
Then, three years earlier, the account was transferred.
“To where?” Luca asked.
Anthony clicked another page.
The receiving institution was a private trust company in Illinois.
The account name made my heart pound.
Claire Bennett Education and Care Trust.
I stared at the screen.
“That's my name.”
Anthony nodded.
“And there's more.”
He opened the beneficiary information.
The trust had two named beneficiaries.
My mother.
And me.
Luca leaned closer.
“Who controls it?”
Anthony slowly raised his eyes.
“That's the problem.”
I gripped the back of a chair.
“Who?”
Anthony looked directly at Vanessa.
“Your father became the trustee three years ago.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“That isn't possible.”
But Anthony had already opened the final document.
At the bottom was an authorization transferring control.
May you like
Signed by Margaret Bennett.
And witnessed by Vanessa Bellini.
