Chapter 7 - The Signature That Wasn't Hers
The forged affidavit reached social media before Sloan reached her apartment.
A television commentator held a printed page to the camera and described her as an ambitious former student who had invented a conspiracy to rescue her father's reputation. Preston's publicist called the Harbor Point accusations “a desperate publicity stunt orchestrated by a woman pretending to be Mrs. Costa.”
Sloan sat beside June at the newsroom and read her own supposed signature. The looping S was wrong. The slant of the letters was wrong. Even the date was impossible: the affidavit claimed she'd signed it on a Thursday afternoon when she'd been working a double shift at the Obsidian.
“We can prove that,” June said.
“Will anyone wait for proof?”
“Some won't. The people making decisions might.”
Miriam arranged for an independent forensic document examiner to review the affidavit, comparing it with verified signatures and employment records. Roman provided the club's time logs through counsel, while June gathered Sloan's college transcripts showing her actual course of study. Sloan personally requested copies of the notarization records listed on the document.
The notary number belonged to a woman who had retired two years before the alleged signing.
“It's such a careless forgery,” Sloan said when Miriam called. “Why would Preston risk it?”
“Because he only needs enough uncertainty to delay scrutiny,” Miriam answered. “If the project financing closes first, unwinding it becomes much harder.”
By evening, angry strangers had begun appearing outside Sloan's apartment building. One carried a phone and shouted questions through her window. Another photographed her mailbox. Her landlord, already furious about the unpaid rent, told her that attention like this was bad for the property.
Roman sent a car but did not insist she use it. Evelyn offered the guest room in her house, explaining that it had a private entrance and a cat who disliked everyone equally.
Sloan chose Evelyn's. She left through the building's rear stairwell with June and a suitcase containing more work clothes than anything worth protecting.
Evelyn showed her a second exit through the garden and told her she was free to come and go without asking permission. The bedroom contained a desk, a clean notebook, and a lamp with a chipped ceramic base. There were no cameras inside. Sloan asked directly, and Evelyn showed her the house's safety arrangement rather than pretending the question was insulting.
Later, Sloan sat on the edge of the bed and looked through strangers' messages on her phone. One woman accused her of chasing a rich man. Another, a schoolteacher from Oregon, said she'd once been forced to clean a manager's deliberate mess in front of customers. Seeing you stand up mattered, the teacher wrote. Sloan saved that message and switched off the rest.
The cat, named Chairman, hissed once and took possession of her pillow.
That night, Roman arrived with takeout from a neighborhood diner. Sloan met him on the porch. He looked tired and unusually unsure of himself.
“I should have corrected the marriage story the next morning,” he said.
“That wouldn't have stopped Preston.”
“It might have kept the attention off your address.”
“Maybe. But he would have found another weapon.”
Roman put the paper bag on the porch rail. “My legal team thinks we should issue a statement. We could say we're separated.”
Sloan stared at him. “We can't separate from something that never happened.”
“Then we'll tell the truth.”
She looked at the porch light, the quiet street, the home that felt safe only because Roman's family had offered it without conditions.
“I don't want to hide behind another lie,” she said. “But I also don't want Preston writing the story. Let me tell it myself.”
The next afternoon, June filmed an interview in a plain office with no dramatic lighting. Sloan described the dinner incident and Roman's impulsive statement. She clarified that they had not been married and refused to apologize for accepting help when she was being humiliated.
“I was a waitress,” she said into the camera. “I was also an architecture student. I am my father's daughter. None of those things makes me worth more or less than the person sitting across from me.”
She explained the questions surrounding Harbor Point but left out evidence still under review. She made no claims about guilt that hadn't been verified. June published the interview alongside the affidavit discrepancies and a clear distinction between proven facts and allegations.
The response surprised them. Some commenters ridiculed the fake marriage, but others shared stories of employers who'd cheated families, loved ones mistreated in care homes, and floods ignored in poor neighborhoods. Residents at Harbor Point began sending photographs, invoices, and unanswered complaints.
Then June received a voice message from a woman who refused to give her name.
“Look at the insurance inspection from the year Thomas Mercer lost his company,” the woman said. “The gate wasn't the only thing they lied about.”
June ran an audio check and looked at Sloan. “Sounds like Celeste.”
Sloan called the number back. It was disconnected.
That night, Roman invited her to see the cassette tape authenticated in Miriam's office. He insisted that the first listening should be Sloan's decision. She came with June, sat at the conference table, and watched an audio specialist load the tape into a working deck. The technician recorded the entire process.
A click sounded through the speakers. A faint hiss. Then a woman's voice, gentle but urgent.
“My name is Adriana Costa. If you're hearing this, Thomas believes it is no longer safe to keep these records at home.”
Roman's hand tightened against the edge of the table. Sloan had never seen him look so young.
The recording continued.
“The blue line is the emergency runoff channel for North Gate Nine. Closing it will push stormwater through occupied streets. I have the original calculations. Thomas has the signatures. And I finally know who ordered the revision.”
The room held its breath.
Adriana named a date, a meeting, and three people.
The final name was Vincent Sarto.
May you like
Then she said something that made Roman rise abruptly from his chair.
“My husband is protecting the man who ordered it.”
