Chapter 7 - The Forged Signature
Bethany met me in the lobby of the airport hotel while Grant stood in the resort's check-in line arguing about the deposit. I'd told him I needed somewhere quiet to feed the babies. He'd waved me off without looking up from his phone.
She was in a corner chair, carry-on at her feet, a cup of coffee going cold beside her. She stood when she saw me.
"You brought all three."
"I always bring all three," I said. "There's nobody else."
She helped me settle them, taking June without being asked, bouncing her gently while I got the other two into a stable arrangement. It was such a natural thing to do that it made my chest ache in a way I didn't have time to look at.
"The separation agreement," I said. "Do you still have a photo of it?"
She nodded and handed me her phone. She already had it pulled up.
It looked real. The formatting was right, the language was standard, the date was eight months old. My name was printed at the bottom, and under it, a signature.
I looked at the signature for a long time.
"This isn't mine," I said.
"I didn't think it was," Bethany said quietly. "Not after this morning."
"Did he ever give you a paper copy?"
"He showed it to me on his phone. I never held the actual paper."
I took a screenshot, then forwarded it to Walter — Eleanor's husband, the retired lawyer whose name had come in by text while I was in the terminal. I added one line: Forged signature on a legal document. Can you advise?
The reply came in four minutes. Yes. Keep the image. Don't confront him about it yet. Call me tomorrow morning.
I handed the phone back.
"He's at the resort right now, trying to check in," I said. "His card will work — it's his own account, I can't touch that. But that suite is four hundred a night, and I don't think he has that kind of money anymore."
Bethany was quiet a moment. "How long's he been out of work?"
"Fourteen months."
She set her coffee down. "He told me he was a senior account manager. Said he'd just closed a major deal. He paid for dinners, weekends away—" She stopped. "He paid for all of it with your money."
"Yes."
"I feel sick."
"You were lied to," I said. "Systematically. With a forged document."
"That doesn't make it better."
"It shouldn't make you feel responsible, either."
June had fallen asleep on her shoulder. Bethany looked down at her with something between tenderness and grief.
"What are you doing tonight?" she asked.
"Getting a room here. I'm not going to that resort."
"And tomorrow?"
"Call the lawyer. Then call Grant and tell him I know everything."
"He'll deny it," she said. "He's very good at it. He'll have an answer for every single thing. He'll make you feel like you're the one who's confused."
"He can try," I said. "But I have the screenshot. I have Eleanor. I have you." I paused. "Would you give a statement? To a lawyer. About what he showed you."
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Theo had grabbed a fistful of my sleeve and was tugging on it, half asleep. I looked at my three children — worn out, too small to understand any of this, completely dependent on me — and something settled in my chest. Not calm, exactly. More like clarity.
"Bethany," I said. "Thank you for getting up from your seat on that plane."
"I almost didn't. I almost stayed put and pretended I never heard your name."
"What made you get up?"
She thought about it. "The way you were holding them. All three, by yourself, with no help. And you still looked like the calmest person on that plane. I thought — whoever she is, she deserves to know."
My phone lit up on the table. Grant. Calling. I let it ring out.
A text followed. Where are you? The suite is sorted. Come to the resort.
I typed back: Babies are down. We'll talk tomorrow.
Three dots. Then: Nora. Don't do something you'll regret.
I set the phone face-down.
"He's at the suite," I said.
"Of course he is," Bethany said. "Four hundred a night. My money."
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She set it on the table.
"I found this in my bag," she said. "He must have slipped it in before we boarded. I only saw it when I went looking for my passport."
I unfolded it. Handwritten. Grant's writing.
Bethany — if anything goes sideways, don't talk to her. I'll handle it. Trust me. — G
I read it twice. Then I took a photo of it.
"He knew," I said. "He knew there was a chance I'd find out. He planned for it."
"Yes," Bethany said. "He put a contingency note in my bag."
May you like
I folded the paper and put it in my own bag.
"Get some rest," I said. "Tomorrow's going to be long."
