Chapter 3 - THE CONTRACTOR CALLED ME MONDAY MORNING
I barely slept.
At eight the next morning, Dean Porter was standing in my driveway holding a yellow folder.
The dirt pile behind him looked even uglier in daylight.
Beside the studio, the unfinished trench cut across my backyard like a scar.
Dean looked exhausted.
“I should have verified ownership myself,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I know.”
He didn’t make excuses.
That helped.
He handed me the folder.
The first page was his construction agreement.
Client name:
Richard Lawson.
The second page listed the proposed work.
Two bedrooms.
One bathroom.
Kitchenette.
Plumbing.
Electrical upgrade.
Estimated cost: forty-eight thousand dollars.
I stared at the number.
“Dad told me this was a small conversion.”
Dean grimaced.
“It wasn’t.”
“How much did he give you?”
“Six thousand deposit.”
“From where?”
“I assumed his own account.”
I remembered Mom crying on the phone.
Her knee surgery savings.
My stomach tightened.
Then Dean showed me the authorization form.
My name was typed at the bottom.
Under it was a signature.
It looked like mine.
Almost.
But whoever had copied it made the C too large.
I had signed thousands of forms at work.
I knew my own handwriting.
“This isn’t mine.”
Dean nodded.
“I believe you.”
Luke stood beside me.
“Who gave it to you?”
“Richard.”
“When?”
“First meeting.”
“Was Paige there?”
Dean hesitated.
“Yes.”
Everything inside me became still.
“She was?”
“She met us here once.”
I turned toward the house.
Paige had repeatedly told Mom she knew nothing about the permit process.
Apparently she had known enough to walk through my studio with a contractor.
“What did she do?”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck.
“She talked about where the twins’ beds would go.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she did.
“And Scott?”
“Never met him.”
That surprised me.
Paige’s husband apparently had not been involved.
Dean continued.
“There’s something else.”
At that point I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
He removed another sheet.
A handwritten note.
Claire approved verbally. Formal signature attached. Proceed immediately.
Dad’s handwriting.
Luke took a photograph.
I called my attorney.
By noon, I was sitting in Rachel Kim’s office.
She read everything twice.
Then she looked at me.
“We’re changing strategy.”
“What does that mean?”
“Yesterday this was mainly a property dispute involving unauthorized work and a questionable permit application.”
“And now?”
“Now someone appears to have forged your signature to induce a contractor to perform work on your property.”
The word forged made my stomach twist.
Even though I already knew what had happened, hearing an attorney say it made everything real.
Rachel folded her hands.
“Do you want to pursue this?”
I thought about Lily’s wrist.
The dress.
Dad reaching across my table for the permit.
Paige saying my daughter was ruining Easter.
“Yes.”
Rachel nodded.
“Then document everything.”
My phone buzzed.
Paige.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
Finally a message arrived.
You need to call me before Dad does something stupid.
I stared at it.
Another message.
He thinks you're going to the police.
I typed back:
I’m meeting my attorney.
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
Claire, don’t.
I showed Rachel.
“Save that.”
A third message arrived.
We can fix this privately.
That sentence made my anger sharpen.
Not I didn’t know.
Not Dad acted alone.
We can fix this.
I wrote:
What exactly needs fixing, Paige?
She didn't respond.
For almost an hour.
Then:
Can we meet without Luke?
I laughed.
Rachel raised an eyebrow.
“My sister seems to think my husband is the problem.”
“That’s common when someone wants to isolate the person setting boundaries.”
I stared at the phone.
I thought of all the years Paige had called Luke controlling whenever he supported me saying no.
He wasn’t controlling.
He simply had a skill I had spent most of my life avoiding.
He could disappoint my father without feeling guilty.
At three that afternoon, Mom arrived at my house.
Alone.
She stood on the porch holding a casserole dish.
I opened the door.
“Mom?”
“I didn’t know what else to bring.”
I almost smiled.
That was my mother.
Family crisis?
Bring food.
Then I noticed her eyes.
She had been crying.
“Come in.”
She set the dish on the counter.
For a while she said nothing.
Then:
“Did your father forge your signature?”
I leaned against the sink.
“Someone did.”
“Richard says the contractor did it.”
“He didn't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the contractor is the person who told me.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Paige says maybe you signed something and forgot.”
I laughed once.
“I work with legal paperwork every day.”
“I know.”
“Do you think I forgot?”
“No.”
Her answer came quickly.
I looked at her.
“Then why are you here?”
Mom gripped the edge of the counter.
“I checked our savings account.”
My pulse changed.
“What about it?”
“The six thousand dollars Richard paid that contractor wasn’t the only money he took.”
“How much?”
Her eyes filled.
“Twelve thousand eight hundred.”
I stared at her.
“That was for your surgery.”
She nodded.
“All of it?”
“Almost.”
I felt sick.
“Where did the rest go?”
“I don’t know.”
Before I could respond, tires crunched across the driveway.
Mom looked toward the window.
A black SUV pulled up.
Paige climbed out.
Mom’s shoulders dropped.
“You told her you were coming?”
“No.”
Paige stormed toward the porch.
She didn’t knock.
She tried the handle.
Locked.
She banged on the door.
“Claire!”
I walked to the entryway but did not open it.
“What?”
“Let me in.”
“No.”
Mom stared at me.
Paige hit the door again.
“This is insane!”
I remained calm.
“Go home.”
“You’re destroying this family over paperwork!”
Then I heard another voice.
Scott.
Paige’s husband.
“Paige, stop.”
She spun around.
“You followed me?”
“No.”
His voice sounded different.
Not angry.
Terrified.
He walked up behind her holding a large brown envelope.
Then he looked through the glass directly at me.
“Claire.”
I unlocked the deadbolt but kept the door closed.
“What?”
He raised the envelope.
“I found something in our filing cabinet.”
Paige's face changed instantly.
“Scott.”
He ignored her.
“I think you need to see this.”
Paige grabbed his arm.
May you like
“Do not give her that.”
And that was the moment I knew whatever was inside the envelope was worse than the forged signature.
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