Chapter 3 - THE NAME ON THE DEED
The heavy cream-colored paper lay on the marble floor like a death warrant.
For a moment, nobody moved. The string quartet had long since stopped playing, and the silence in the grand ballroom was deafening. The scent of white roses and expensive champagne suddenly made me nauseous.
I fell to my knees.
The satin of my dress pooled around me as I reached out with trembling fingers. I didn't care that thirty guests were watching. I didn't care that my husband was glaring at me. I only cared about the piece of paper that held the last physical piece of my mother.
I picked up the deed.
The ink was sharp and black. At the bottom of the page, I saw Peter’s familiar, scrawling signature. Next to it was Eleanor’s perfectly perfectly looped cursive, confirming her as the buyer.
But it was the third signature that made my blood run cold.
Catherine Rose Lawson.
My name. Written in my exact handwriting. The slight tilt of the 'C', the looping 'L' that my mother had taught me when I was seven years old. It was perfect.
But I had never signed it.
“Mom?” Olivia crouched beside me, her wedding gown billowing around us. Her face was stained with mascara, the little pearl earrings shaking as she trembled. “Mom, what is it?”
I looked up at Peter. The man I had shared a bed with for twenty-five years. The man who had held me when my mother died.
“You forged my signature,” I whispered.
Peter’s jaw tightened. He quickly looked around at the guests, his corporate survival instincts kicking in. “Catherine, keep your voice down. You’re being hysterical. We can discuss the logistics of the asset transfer at home.”
“This isn’t an asset transfer!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “This is forgery! You stole my mother’s house!”
Dante Valenti stepped forward. The sheer temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He didn't yell. He didn't posture. He simply reached down, gently took the document from my shaking hands, and read it.
His dark eyes scanned the signatures. Then he looked at Peter.
“Marco,” Dante said, his voice dangerously soft.
The massive security chief appeared instantly.
“Lock the ballroom doors,” Dante ordered. “Nobody leaves. Not the groom. Not the guests. And especially not him.”
Marco nodded once. Within seconds, the heavy oak doors at the back of the hall clicked shut.
Panic rippled through the crowd. Eleanor Vance finally lost her composure. She stepped toward Dante, her emerald gown swishing aggressively.
“You can’t hold us here,” Eleanor snapped, pointing a manicured finger at him. “This is kidnapping. I have the police commissioner on speed dial.”
Dante didn’t even look at her. He kept his eyes on Peter.
“Call him,” Dante said coldly. “Tell him Dante Valenti is holding a forgery ring in the Crystal Ballroom. I’m sure the commissioner would love to see a senior accounting partner implicated in real estate fraud. It’ll make the morning papers.”
Eleanor’s hand froze over her evening bag. She swallowed hard, the color draining from her face. She knew exactly who he was.
Peter, however, was desperate. “It’s not forgery! We have a joint trust. I have legal authority to sign on her behalf regarding marital assets.”
“My mother’s house was not a marital asset,” I said, standing up. My legs felt like lead, but I forced myself to stand tall. “It was left solely to me. You knew that. You told me the lawyers were still processing the probate.”
“You were in no state to manage property, Catherine!” Peter shot back, pointing at me. “Look at you! You’re a mess. I was protecting our finances. If I hadn't sold that dump, you would have squandered it!”
“Don't you dare call my grandmother’s house a dump!” Olivia yelled. She stepped in front of me, shielding me from her father.
Dante watched the exchange with calculating eyes. He handed the forged deed to Marco.
“Check the date of the notary stamp,” Dante murmured.
Marco squinted at the embossed seal. “Dated yesterday morning. At nine AM.”
I gasped. Yesterday morning. Peter had brought me coffee in bed. He had kissed my forehead and told me he had an early meeting with the wedding caterers. He had been forging my signature while I was drinking the coffee he made me.
“It’s a legal transaction,” Peter insisted, sweat now beading on his forehead. “The house belongs to Eleanor’s development firm now. There’s nothing you can do.”
“We’ll see about that,” Dante said. He turned to Marco. “Get his briefcase. The one he checked at the coatroom.”
Peter lunged forward. “You have no right to touch my property!”
Two of Dante’s men caught Peter by the shoulders, holding him back effortlessly. Peter struggled, his charcoal suit wrinkling, the silver tie Olivia had bought him pulling tight around his neck.
Marco returned a minute later carrying Peter’s expensive Italian leather briefcase. He set it on a cocktail table and popped the latches.
“Let’s see what else you’re lying about,” Dante said.
He reached inside the briefcase and pulled out a manila folder. He opened it, his dark eyes scanning the contents. For the first time that night, Dante Valenti looked genuinely shocked.
He didn't hand the folder to me. He looked at Peter with a disgust so profound it made my stomach drop.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Dante turned the folder around.
Inside was a one-way first-class ticket to Geneva, Switzerland. The flight was scheduled for 11:00 PM tonight. Two hours from now.
But it was the second document clipped to the ticket that made the room spin.
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It was a medical intake form for a private, locked psychiatric facility in upstate New York. The admission date was tomorrow.
And the patient’s name written at the top of the form was Catherine Rose Lawson.
