Chapter 2: The Signature That Wasn’t Mine
I let the first three calls ring out.
On the fourth, I answered.
“Why was my card declined?” my stepdaughter demanded.
“The hotel canceled my reservation, and the travel agency says the trip was never paid!”
Her adoptive father grabbed the phone.
“Stop being childish and fix this,” he snapped.
“You promised to cover everything.”
“I promised her,” I said quietly.
“Not the two people who publicly told me I wasn’t family.”
Before he could answer, another notification appeared on my screen.
Someone had tried to withdraw the entire balance from the education account I had funded for ten years.
My hands began to shake.
“Did you try to access that account?” I asked.
Silence.
Then my stepdaughter whispered, “He said the money belonged to me.”
“It did,” I replied.
“Until someone submitted a form with a signature that wasn’t mine.”
Her adoptive father shouted, “Hang up!”
But she didn’t.
“Why?” she asked him.
“You told me everything was legal.”
A second call came through—from my attorney.
I put both calls on speaker, and his first sentence made them both go silent.
“Don’t transfer another dollar,” he warned.
“I’ve just discovered who signed that form—and that isn’t the only document they changed.”
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What did the attorney uncover, and why was her adoptive father so afraid?
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