Chapter 5 - The Signature That Wasn't MineTwo days after giving birth, I sat in a wheelchair beside two incubators and learned someone had forged my signature.
I didn't learn the details until later.
But security cameras captured almost everything.
Richard arrived at Carter Restoration at 1:46 p.m.
Kelsey drove him.
Apparently, she had retrieved him after bail.
He was still wearing the navy polo he'd worn while dragging me from my house.
According to the receptionist, he marched through the front doors and demanded to see Mark Ellison, Daniel's longtime business partner.
Mark had known Daniel since they were teenagers.
They had started Carter Restoration together after a tornado damaged dozens of homes south of Columbus.
Daniel handled field operations.
Mark handled numbers.
They fought constantly.
They trusted each other completely.
Richard had always hated him.
When the receptionist said Mark was unavailable, Richard walked past her.
Two supervisors tried to stop him.
He shouted loud enough for the entire office to hear.
“My daughter controls Daniel's estate. I represent my daughter.”
That was lie number one.
Then:
“She is currently hospitalized and incapacitated.”
Lie number two.
Then:
“She has authorized me to handle company decisions.”
Lie number three.
Unfortunately for Richard, Michael's documents had arrived forty minutes earlier.
Mark was waiting.
Security footage showed Richard opening the conference room door.
Mark sat at the far end of a long table.
Three board members were with him.
So was another attorney.
Richard stopped.
Mark pointed toward an empty chair.
“Sit.”
Richard smiled.
“This won't take long.”
“No,” Mark replied. “It won't.”
Richard placed a folder on the table.
Inside was a proposed agreement granting an entity called Hale Strategic Management temporary operational authority during “trustee incapacity.”
My supposed incapacity.
Mark asked one question.
“Where's Emily's signature?”
Richard said, “She's in labor.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“My daughter is going through an emotional crisis.”
“Where is her signature?”
“She'll sign.”
“So she hasn't.”
Richard's expression hardened.
“Mark, don't make this difficult.”
Mark leaned back.
“Your son-in-law died twenty-three days ago. Your pregnant daughter was taken to a hospital this morning after you allegedly assaulted her. And somehow you think this afternoon is an appropriate time to walk into Daniel's company asking for control.”
Richard's face went red.
“You have no idea what happened at that house.”
“I've seen the police report.”
That shut him up.
Then Mark slid Daniel's investigation across the table.
Witnesses later said Richard's face visibly changed.
“Recognize Oak Hill Development?” Mark asked.
Richard said nothing.
“Recognize Benton Acquisitions?”
Nothing.
“Ridgeway Capital?”
Richard slowly stood.
“This meeting is over.”
Mark shook his head.
“It hasn't started.”
Richard pointed at him.
“You think Daniel was some saint?”
“No.”
“You think you know everything he did?”
“No.”
“You think Emily can run this company?”
That was when Mark laughed.
Not cruelly.
Almost sadly.
“Richard, Emily doesn't need to run this company.”
“She owns Daniel's shares.”
“She controls them.”
“Exactly.”
“She can hire professionals. She can retain management. She can appoint trustees. She can do a hundred things that don't involve knowing how to repair a roof.”
Richard's jaw tightened.
Mark continued.
“That's the difference between ownership and ego. Daniel understood it. You apparently don't.”
Richard walked out.
But not before turning near the door and saying:
“This isn't finished.”
He was right.
Just not in the way he imagined.
At 2:17, something else happened.
The company's controller, Gregory Pierce, emptied his desk.
He told an assistant he had a family emergency.
He walked to the parking lot.
And disappeared.
Gregory had worked for Daniel for four years.
He had access to vendor contracts.
Property records.
Banking reports.
He had also been copied on every proposal submitted by Oak Hill Development.
By 3:00 p.m., Mark couldn't reach him.
By 3:30, the company's attorney discovered Gregory had downloaded hundreds of internal files during the previous month.
At 4:05, Mark called Michael.
Michael was standing outside my hospital room.
Inside, I was being prepared for emergency surgery.
Baby B's heart rate had dropped three more times.
The medication to slow labor wasn't working.
My doctor sat beside me.
“Emily, we recommend a C-section.”
I stared at her.
“Are they in danger?”
“Baby A is tolerating labor well. Baby B is struggling. At this gestational age, delivery is safer than continuing.”
My entire body went cold.
“Will they breathe?”
“We have a neonatal team ready.”
“I want Daniel.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
The doctor said nothing.
Neither did the nurse.
I covered my face.
“I want my husband.”
Someone took my hand.
Michael.
He had returned quietly.
“You're allowed to want him,” he said.
“I can't do this without him.”
“You already are.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He pulled Daniel's letter from the bedside table.
“He told you to trust yourself.”
I laughed through tears.
“Daniel wasn't exactly unbiased.”
“No. He loved you.”
Another contraction hit.
The doctor looked toward the monitor.
“We need to go.”
The next twenty minutes became fragments.
Consent forms.
Blue surgical cap.
Bright hallways.
Cold operating room.
People counting instruments.
Someone asking my name.
Someone asking my daughters' names.
We hadn't chosen them.
Daniel and I had narrowed it to four possibilities.
We planned to decide after seeing their faces.
The anesthesiologist asked if I could feel something cold across my stomach.
I said pressure.
No pain.
A drape rose in front of me.
Michael wasn't allowed in because he wasn't family and the delivery was urgent.
So a nurse named Rachel stayed beside my head.
“You're not alone,” she kept saying.
At 4:41 p.m., the room changed.
Voices sharpened.
Pressure pulled across my abdomen.
Then suddenly—
A cry.
Small.
Angry.
Perfect.
“Baby A!”
I started sobbing.
“Is she okay?”
“She's beautiful.”
Another minute.
More pressure.
Then silence.
I stopped breathing.
“Why isn't she crying?”
People moved quickly.
“Emily, they're working on your baby.”
“Why isn't she crying?”
A doctor carried something tiny toward a warmer.
I saw one purple foot.
“Please.”
Rachel squeezed my hand.
“She's getting help.”
Seconds stretched.
Then—
A thin cry.
Weak.
But there.
My entire body collapsed into relief.
“That's her,” Rachel whispered.
I cried harder.
My daughters.
Alive.
Both under five pounds.
Both headed to the NICU.
I saw each for only seconds.
Baby A had Daniel's dark hair.
Baby B opened one eye as if personally offended by everyone in the operating room.
I laughed.
“That one is Charlotte.”
Rachel smiled.
“You picked?”
“Daniel liked Charlotte.”
“And her sister?”
I thought about the letter.
Trust yourself.
“Grace.”
Charlotte and Grace Carter.
At 5:22 p.m., I became their mother.
At 6:03, while I was still in recovery, my father called me fourteen times.
I didn't answer.
At 6:19, Kelsey sent a message.
You need to stop this before Richard loses everything.
I stared at the screen.
Then another text arrived.
He's your father. Daniel is dead. Think about the family you still have.
I read it twice.
Then blocked her.
At 7:40, Michael came into recovery.
The expression on his face told me something had happened.
“What?”
He sat down.
“Gregory Pierce has been found.”
“Where?”
“At the airport.”
“Leaving?”
“Trying to.”
“Where was he going?”
“Cancún.”
I almost laughed.
“Seriously?”
“With forty-eight thousand dollars in cash.”
I stopped smiling.
“Whose cash?”
“That's what authorities are determining.”
“Did my father give it to him?”
“We don't know yet.”
Michael placed his phone down.
“But Gregory had something else in his luggage.”
“What?”
“A flash drive containing copies of Carter Restoration's property files.”
My exhaustion vanished.
“Why?”
“Because someone has been falsifying internal documents.”
“What kind of documents?”
“Ownership transfer paperwork.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
“The primary warehouse.”
“Who were they transferring it to?”
May you like
Michael's eyes held mine.
“Your father.”
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