Chapter 5 — A Signature That Wasn’t Mine

The document arrived at 9:14 p.m.

It was six pages long. The first page described my house on Alder Street, a narrow brick row home my father had left me. The fourth carried a signature that looked enough like mine to trouble anyone who had never watched me sign.

Beneath it was a witness line filled in by Marianne Mercer.

I called Paul Danner back.

“Where did you meet her?”

“At the house. Your brother was there.”

“Evan isn’t my brother.”

Danner cleared his throat. “That’s how she introduced him.”

“Did you meet me?”

“No. She said you were out of the country.”

I almost laughed. I had spent the previous week telling everyone who would listen about a new lunch menu.

“You should speak to a lawyer,” I said. “I’m doing the same.”

Danner began asking about his deposit. I told him I didn’t have it and ended the call before I could promise anything I couldn’t deliver.

Claire answered on the second ring.

“I need a lawyer,” I said.

“What happened now?”

I sent her the document. She called me back after reading it.

“I know someone who handles property disputes. Her name’s Priya Shah. I’ll ask her to call you in the morning.”

“I can pay her.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

I sat at my kitchen table after we hung up. My father had bought the Alder Street house after twenty years of driving freight trucks. He used to say the back steps were crooked because the city had built the street in a hurry and nobody had ever persuaded it to straighten up.

Marianne had stood beside him when he signed the papers. Now she had stood inside that same house and told a stranger I was away.

I took a photograph of my driver’s license, found three recent documents bearing my real signature, and sent copies to a secure folder for Priya. I also sent the agreement to Ortiz, explaining only that Evan and my mother had been meeting a buyer while I dealt with the fire.

The next morning, Priya called at eight.

“Mr. Mercer, I’ve reviewed what you sent. Has ownership changed hands yet?”

“Not that I know of. The buyer called me last night.”

“Good. I’ll verify the property record and contact the people handling the proposed sale. Preserve your messages with Danner. Don’t sign anything he sends you.”

She asked whether my mother had ever held authority to sell the property. She had not. Years earlier, I had given her a key so she could water the plants while I traveled. That was all.

“Could she have documents from your father’s estate?” Priya asked.

“Yes.”

“That may explain how she assembled a convincing packet. It wouldn’t give her your consent.”

For the first time since Danner’s call, I felt as if the problem had edges I could grasp.

Rosa called while I was walking to the restaurant. All twenty-six employees had received their pay. Luis sent a photograph of the deposit screen with a row of celebration emojis. I stared at it longer than necessary.

I had managed one thing I promised them.

Ortiz met me by the side entrance again. This time a technician from the security company was with her. He carried a small drive in a sealed bag.

“The camera kept recording after the office system went down,” he said. “We’re checking the time against the alarm log.”

He did not offer to play it for me. Ortiz told me they needed to review the original copy first.

I wanted to argue. Instead, I gave her Natalie’s Friday cancellation from the reservation book and explained why it concerned me.

“I can look into it,” Ortiz said. “It may be unrelated.”

“I know.”

I was learning that evidence rarely arrived with a label telling you what it meant.

At noon, Natalie appeared outside the restaurant. She stood on the opposite side of the tape, holding a small cardboard box.

“I brought the key back,” she said.

I joined her on the sidewalk. She handed me the box. Inside were her keys, the garage remote, and the spare key to Alder Street.

“You had one of these too?” I asked.

“Your mother gave it to me years ago, when she asked me to check on the house.”

I placed the box on the hood of my car.

“Why did you cancel our reservation?”

Natalie blinked. “What?”

“Friday afternoon. You told Rosa we had other plans.”

She looked at the boarded windows. “You were going to propose there.”

“Yes.”

“I knew. I found the ring box when I was looking for a charger in your office.”

I waited.

“I couldn’t let you ask me in front of your staff.”

“Because of Evan?”

She ran a hand over her stomach. “Because I needed to tell you I was pregnant.”

“You found out before Friday.”

“Yes.”

“When did it start?”

Natalie looked toward the street. “Last fall.”

The kitchen extractor fan from the restaurant next door rattled to life. I had to lean closer to hear her.

“Last fall,” I repeated. “You helped me open this place in June.”

“I know.”

“Did you give Marianne the alarm code?”

“No. She knew where you kept the spare key. Evan had heard her talk about it.”

“You said you wanted Marianne to scare me into closing.”

“I said maybe if business slowed down, you would stop pushing yourself so hard. She was angry. She kept saying Evan couldn’t sleep because everyone compared him to you.”

“You were comparing us too?”

“I was trying to keep both of you from falling apart.”

Her answer sounded rehearsed. I couldn’t tell whether she had practiced it for me or for herself.

“I gave Ortiz your messages,” I said.

Natalie’s hand fell away from her stomach. “You gave them to an investigator?”

“Yes.”

“I told you Evan would say anything to hurt you.”

“You told me that after you knew someone had burned down my restaurant.”

“I was trying to warn you.”

I picked up the box. “Then tell Ortiz everything you know.”

“She’ll think I helped.”

“That’s why you need to tell her the truth.”

Natalie looked past me. Ortiz was visible through the side door, speaking to the technician. Natalie set her jaw, turned, and walked away.

That evening, Priya called. The proposed transfer had not been completed. She had notified the relevant parties that I disputed the signature, and Danner had agreed to pause while his own lawyer reviewed the documents.

“Thank you,” I said.

“There’s more,” she replied. “The buyer sent me the payment instructions your mother gave him. The deposit didn’t go to her account.”

I sat down.

“Where did it go?”

“To a company called Cross Street Coffee LLC.”

Evan’s new shop.

The next morning, a new message arrived from Ortiz. She had viewed the back hallway footage. She could not send it to me yet, but she wanted me to come in and identify the people who appeared on it.

I read her final sentence twice.

There are two people in the hallway before the fire.