Chapter 2 - The Signature of a Dead Man
Natalie read the date three times.
October 18.
The year was unmistakable.
Six years after Luca Vitale had died.
And twenty-nine months after her own father had been buried.
“This is impossible,” she whispered.
Alessandro stepped closer.
Marco placed the tablet on the library desk.
The scanned document contained three signatures.
Daniel Collins.
Luca Vitale.
Richard Vale.
Beneath them was an authorization establishing a charitable investment account named the Meridian Educational Trust.
The document appeared to have been signed before a notary.
Natalie recognized her father's signature immediately.
He had signed school permission slips with the same elongated D.
He had written birthday cards with the same looping C.
She knew the exact shape because she had spent years reading his old letters after he died.
But something was wrong.
The signature looked authentic.
The date could not be.
“My father died in March,” she said.
Alessandro looked toward Marco.
“Was this used to establish the account?”
“Yes. According to the records we obtained, the trust was created using these authorizations. The document was later referenced in several charitable investment transactions.”
“Who supplied the records?”
“Richard's office.”
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
“And the bank?”
“We're requesting originals.”
Natalie moved closer to the screen.
The page was slightly crooked.
There were faint shadows along its edges.
She recognized a small crease near her father's signature.
“I've seen this before.”
Both men looked at her.
“Where?” Alessandro asked.
Natalie closed her eyes.
A memory emerged.
Her father's old desk.
The apartment where they had lived before everything changed.
A stack of papers tied with red string.
Her mother telling her not to touch the files because they belonged to her father's business.
“I don't remember the exact document,” she admitted. “But I remember the crease. Dad kept a folder of foundation papers. There was an accident with a cup of coffee, and the corner of one document got wet. He tried to flatten it with a heavy dictionary.”
She pointed to the screen.
“That mark looks like the same damage.”
Marco enlarged the image.
A pale semicircular stain appeared near the bottom.
Alessandro leaned forward.
“Could someone have used an older signed document?”
“Absolutely,” Natalie replied. “Especially if they had access to the original. A signature can be reproduced or transferred into a new layout.”
Marco's phone vibrated.
He read the message.
“Richard left the property.”
Alessandro turned sharply.
“Who authorized that?”
“Nobody. He told the front gate he had a medical emergency. They allowed his driver through before receiving the updated instructions.”
Alessandro's expression became dangerously still.
“Find him.”
Marco nodded and left.
Natalie felt a cold sensation spread through her chest.
Richard had known her father.
He had apparently used his name.
And he had threatened her less than an hour earlier.
“I need to go home,” she said.
Alessandro turned toward her.
“I'll have someone drive you.”
“I can take a cab.”
“It's late.”
“Alessandro.”
He stopped.
She drew a breath.
“I appreciate your concern, but I don't want to feel as though I'm being escorted around because I noticed a fake certificate.”
His expression softened.
“That's fair.”
He paused.
“May I at least arrange transportation to your apartment?”
She considered it.
Then she nodded.
“As long as nobody searches my purse.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Your security director looks like he searches people recreationally.”
Alessandro laughed despite the situation.
For the briefest moment, the tension eased.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
And the smile vanished.
“Excuse me.”
He answered.
A man spoke rapidly on the other end.
Natalie could not make out the words.
But she saw Alessandro's knuckles tighten around the phone.
“Where?” he demanded.
He listened.
Then he said, “Don't touch anything. I'm coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Natalie asked.
Alessandro looked at her.
“The storage facility where my brother kept his private records caught fire.”
Natalie swallowed.
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Do you think it's connected?”
His silence answered her.
Outside, rain had begun falling against the mansion windows.
Natalie should have gone home.
She knew that.
Her life had never involved burning storage facilities, forged trust agreements, or men who controlled private security teams.
She belonged in a stationery shop.
She understood utility bills, overdue invoices, and the difference between cotton paper and cheap commercial stock.
But the name on the screen had changed everything.
Daniel Collins.
Her father.
A man she remembered as patient, gentle, and stubbornly honest.
A man who had died believing his family would be safe.
“Alessandro,” she said.
He stopped at the door.
“Before your brother died, did he work with my father?”
Alessandro stared at her.
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know you were Daniel Collins's daughter until Marco showed me that record.”
“Who was my father to your family?”
Alessandro's expression became guarded.
“He was our foundation's first financial administrator.”
Natalie frowned.
“That can't be right.”
“Why?”
“My father worked for a medical supply company.”
“That was one of his jobs.”
She shook her head.
“He never told us.”
Alessandro hesitated.
Then he asked, “Natalie, how did your parents die?”
She felt the old ache behind her ribs.
“Car accident. On the New Jersey Turnpike.”
“What year?”
She told him.
Alessandro's face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“What?” she demanded.
He looked toward the burned-orange glow of the fire in the library fireplace.
“Luca died on the same highway.”
Natalie froze.
“In the same accident?”
“No.”
He spoke slowly.
“Three months earlier.”
The silence was unbearable.
Then Alessandro continued.
“My brother had been investigating missing charitable funds. He believed someone inside the foundation was stealing money.”
“And my father?”
“Daniel was helping him.”
Natalie gripped the edge of the desk.
She remembered the months before her parents died.
Her father checking the locks twice.
Her mother whispering into the phone after midnight.
A strange car parked across the street.
She had been eleven.
At the time, she thought adults were simply mysterious.
Now those memories returned with terrifying clarity.
“My father was frightened,” she whispered.
Alessandro said nothing.
“He started driving me and Michael to school himself. He told Mom not to open the door for strangers.”
A sharp pain traveled through her chest.
“I thought it was because someone had broken into our building.”
Alessandro approached slowly.
“Natalie.”
She shook her head.
“No. Please don't tell me you're sorry. I need to know what happened.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said, “I believe Richard Vale knows.”
An hour later, Natalie was driven home in a black SUV.
Marco sat in front beside the driver.
Alessandro had gone to the storage facility.
Before leaving, he had given Natalie a number.
Not his assistant's.
Not a general office number.
His personal phone.
“Call me if anything feels wrong,” he said.
She had almost told him that everything already felt wrong.
Instead, she nodded.
At eleven forty-three, the SUV stopped outside her apartment building.
Natalie thanked the driver.
Marco walked her to the entrance.
The hallway smelled faintly of old paint and someone's dinner.
Her apartment was on the third floor.
She climbed the stairs, digging through her purse for her keys.
Halfway down the corridor, she stopped.
Her apartment door was open.
Only an inch.
But it was open.
Natalie never left it unlocked.
Never.
She had spent too many years worrying about Michael to be careless about security.
A faint sound came from inside.
Paper rustling.
Someone was searching through her belongings.
Natalie backed away.
Her hand trembled as she called Alessandro.
He answered immediately.
“Natalie?”
“Someone's in my apartment.”
His voice changed.
“Where are you?”
“Hallway. Third floor.”
“Don't go inside.”
The command was immediate.
“Marco is downstairs. Stay where you are. I'm calling him.”
Natalie turned toward the stairwell.
Then her apartment door opened wider.
A man stepped into the corridor.
He wore a gray jacket and black gloves.
His face was unfamiliar.
But the object in his right hand was not.
A gun.
Natalie stopped moving.
The man raised it.
“Where's the blue ledger?” he asked.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
He took a step closer.
“Daniel Collins kept a blue ledger. Where is it?”
Natalie backed toward the stairwell.
“My father's dead.”
“I know.”
The man smiled without warmth.
“That's why this should have been easy.”
Before Natalie could answer, a voice thundered from below.
“Police! Drop the weapon!”
The man spun.
Marco appeared at the stairwell landing, his own weapon drawn, with the building's off-duty police security officer behind him.
The intruder shoved Natalie against the wall and ran toward the rear fire stairs.
Marco followed.
Natalie slid to the floor.
Her phone was still connected.
She heard Alessandro shouting her name.
“Natalie! Answer me!”
She lifted the phone.
“I'm here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don't think so.”
There was a brief silence.
Then his voice came back, low and shaken.
“I'm coming.”
Natalie looked through her open apartment door.
Drawers had been emptied.
Books lay across the floor.
A framed photograph of her parents had been knocked from a shelf.
And on the hallway carpet, near the intruder's fallen glove, lay something small and blue.
A scrap of paper.
Natalie picked it up.
May you like
Written in her father's familiar handwriting were five words.
Ask Mrs. Bell about Luca.
Related Stories
