Mercer Wharf.
My father’s building.
My building.
The signature at the bottom of the page was mine in shape only. Someone had practiced it enough to be confident and not enough to be convincing. On the final notarized acknowledgment, below the forged signature that was supposed to be me, was Sabrina’s notary seal.
By the time I heard footsteps behind me, I already knew the affair was only the costume. The real betrayal had paper.
Cole stopped in the doorway. Jonah stood behind him. Sabrina lingered farther back, suddenly pale.
Cole lifted both hands in that placating way men use when they still believe disaster can be negotiated. ‘I was going to tell you.’
I held up the notarized page. ‘You forged my name.’
‘It was temporary,’ he said. ‘Ashbury hit a cash flow gap. Investors got nervous. I only needed collateral for a month, maybe two. Once the project closed, the line would’ve been paid down before you ever felt it.’
I couldn’t even hear the excuse over the roaring in my ears.
‘You put my father’s building on the line without my consent.’
‘To save the company,’ he shot back, and now fear was stripping politeness off his voice. ‘Our company.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Mine.’
Sabrina folded her arms tighter over my robe. ‘He said you would’ve signed eventually.’
I turned to her. ‘But I didn’t.’
Jonah stared at the notary block as if the paper might physically burn through his hands. ‘Tell me you didn’t stamp this,’ he said.
She did not answer.
The intercom at the back gate buzzed.
Everyone in the room froze.
My eyes dropped to the pickup label on the envelope. Collection window: 8:30 p.m. The brass desk clock read 8:19.
Cole moved first, a quick desperate step toward me. Jonah blocked him with one arm across his chest so hard the two men struck the bookcase. A framed photo of Cole and me at our wedding slid sideways and hit the rug face down.
‘Don’t touch her,’ Jonah said.
I took photos of every page with my phone. Then I called Caroline Voss, my attorney.
She answered on the second ring because she always answered when I called at night. By the time I finished the first sentence, her voice had gone flat and efficient. Photograph everything. Keep the originals. Do not let anyone leave. I am calling the lender’s counsel, the title company, and the police. Email me the scans now.
I sent the images with hands that had finally started to shake.
Then I turned to the intercom on the wall and told the driver at the gate there would be no pickup tonight.
Cole closed his eyes.
That expression should have satisfied me. It didn’t. Affairs are one kind of ruin. Fraud is another. Sitting at my own desk with forged documents in my hands, I understood that the pool house had only been the first door I opened.
The police arrived within fifteen minutes. Two officers took statements in separate rooms. A detective from financial crimes called before the hour was up after Caroline pushed the notary issue and the forged signature. Sabrina kept insisting she had only notarized what Cole told her was a standard spousal consent. The problem for her was that notaries are required to
