Chapter 7 - THE SIGNATURE THAT WASN’T MINE
Claire enlarged the scanned cabin document on her monitor.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Evelyn Mercer.
It looked right.
Almost.
I had been signing my name for thirty-eight years.
You learn your own handwriting the way you learn your own face.
The capital E was mine.
The slope was mine.
But the final r in Mercer curved backward.
I never did that.
“Can signatures be copied from another document?”
Claire nodded.
“Of course.”
My mouth went dry.
Callum had told me years earlier that I signed the cabin insurance form while standing at the kitchen counter.
I remembered papers.
I remembered being distracted because Renley had a fever.
I remembered signing one page.
Maybe two.
I did not remember the page on Claire’s screen.
“I want the original.”
“So do I.”
She drafted preservation requests to the lender and credit union.
Then she gave me instructions I never expected to receive inside a marriage.
Change the passwords to my personal email.
Freeze my credit.
Request my credit reports.
Move copies of important records outside the home.
Document all communication.
Do not sign anything presented by Callum or his relatives.
“And Renley?”
I asked.
“Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Document the Thanksgiving incident.”
“Keep Deline away from her.”
“If Callum disagrees?”
Claire paused.
“Then we address that separately.”
When I arrived home, Callum was sitting on the couch.
He had called out of work.
I put my purse down.
“I need you to answer one question without protecting anyone.”
He nodded.
“Did Deline ever sign my name?”
His eyes widened.
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did your mother?”
“No.”
“Then how did a signature I don’t recognize appear on the cabin collateral document?”
He stood.
“I don’t know.”
I believed his confusion.
That did not mean I trusted him.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman introduced herself as Marissa Kent from Cedar Hollow Credit Union’s compliance department.
“We received your dispute, Mrs. Mercer.”
“Yes.”
“We’re reviewing the guarantee history.”
“Thank you.”
“There is something we need to confirm.”
I glanced at Callum.
“What?”
“Did you personally appear at our Maple Street branch on March 11 of last year to authorize the renewal?”
“No.”
The woman went silent.
“I was in Boston that week for a conference.”
“Are you certain?”
“I have flight receipts.”
Another pause.
Then she said, “Mrs. Mercer, our records show identification was presented in your name.”
Callum’s face drained of color.
I gripped the phone.
“What kind of identification?”
“A Vermont driver’s license.”
I looked at my purse.
My license was inside it.
Marissa continued carefully.
May you like
“We may need you to come in.”
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