folder.
Inside was a notarized document.
Mom stared at it.
“What is that?”
Harold turned it around.
It appeared to be an amendment to her trust.
According to the document, if Mom died, nearly sixty percent of her estate would go not to me…
…but to Vanessa.
My mouth went dry.
“That can’t be real.”
“It isn’t,” Harold said.
Mom stared at him.
“What?”
“The signature is forged.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Harold pointed to the notary stamp.
“The notary listed here died eleven months before this document was supposedly signed.”
Mom covered her mouth.
I stood.
“She forged a trust amendment?”
“Someone did.”
“You think Vanessa—”
“I think,” Harold interrupted, “we need to stop discussing this casually and contact the authorities.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from Vanessa.
PLEASE COME HOME.
Then another.
I CAN EXPLAIN EVERYTHING.
Then:
DO NOT CALL THE POLICE UNTIL YOU HEAR ME.
That
