Chapter 4 - THE SILVER WATCH
My blood ran cold.
I stared at Andrew's wrist. The heavy, antique silver watch that had belonged to my late father was gone. Andrew had worn it every day for fifteen years.
"What did you do with the watch?" I demanded, my voice shaking as I gripped the foreclosure notice.
"I sold it," Andrew whispered, a cruel smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Two years ago. To pay for Vanessa's apartment downtown. The same apartment I used as collateral for the business loans."
"You forged my signature to mortgage my parents' house?"
"I'm the CEO, Annie. I make the financial decisions. You're just the baker."
He turned away from me, motioning to the security guards standing near the entrance.
"Clear the room," Andrew ordered loudly, trying to salvage some shred of authority. "This event is over. My wife is clearly having a mental breakdown."
The television crews were practically tripping over themselves to get footage of the ruined cake and Vanessa's tear-streaked face.
I didn't care about the cameras. I cared about the piece of paper in my hand.
I grabbed Sophie's hand. "Come on, baby. We're leaving."
"Mom, wait," Sophie said, pulling back. "Grandma's cake stand."
I looked at the beautiful blue ceramic stand sitting on the table, currently holding the ruined, black cake. It was the only thing I had left of my mother's kitchen.
Before I could reach for it, Vanessa slammed her hand down on the ceramic rim.
"It stays," Vanessa spat, her eyes wild with humiliation. "It's company property. Andrew had it appraised and logged into the corporate inventory last month."
"Take your hand off my mother's cake stand," I said.
"Make me," Vanessa challenged.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I picked up the silver knife she had dropped.
Vanessa flinched, stepping back.
I used the flat of the blade to smoothly slide the ruined black cake right off the stand. It hit the floor with a wet, heavy thud, splashing dark crumbs onto Vanessa's expensive red heels.
I picked up the blue ceramic stand, wiped the edge with a napkin, and tucked it under my arm.
"Send me the bill," I said.
I walked out of the restaurant with my daughter, leaving my husband and his mistress standing in the wreckage of their grand opening.
When we got to my car in the parking garage, I finally let out the breath I had been holding. My hands were shaking so violently I couldn't get the key into the ignition.
"Mom?" Sophie asked softly from the passenger seat.
"I'm okay, sweetheart. I'm just... I'm so proud of you. But I don't understand how Andrew forged my signature at the bank. They know me there."
Sophie looked down at her lap. She reached into the pocket of her little blue apron.
"He didn't forge it, Mom."
I froze. "What?"
Sophie pulled out a small, crumpled receipt.
"I found this in Dad's trash can last week. I didn't know what it meant until he handed you that paper just now."
She handed it to me.
It was a receipt from a notary public.
Dated three days before the mortgage was signed.
The name of the notary who had officially verified my forged signature was printed clearly at the top.
Vanessa Collins.
"She's a notary?" I asked, my mind racing.
But as I looked closer at the receipt, my heart stopped.
Vanessa wasn't just the notary.
According to the bottom line of the receipt, the fee hadn't been paid by Andrew's corporate account.
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It had been paid by a company called Whitmore Holdings LLC.
"Sophie," I whispered, staring at the paper. "Your dad doesn't own the bakery anymore."
