Chapter 5: The Signature That Wasn't Mine
I stared at the page for a long time.
"That's not my signature," I said.
"I know," Diane said.
"I never signed this.
I've never seen this document."
"I know that too." She turned the folder slightly toward her and pointed to the notary stamp in the lower right corner.
"The notarization is dated on a Tuesday in October, fourteen months ago.
Do you remember where you were that day?"
I thought back.
October, fourteen months ago.
Noah had been sick that week.
A bad chest infection.
I had kept him home from school for three days.
"I was home," I said.
"Noah had a fever.
I didn't leave the house for three days."
"Do you have anything that confirms that?
A pharmacy receipt, a doctor's call, a text message to Ellis?"
"I texted Ellis every day that week asking him to come home early.
He didn't." I looked up.
"He was here.
In Columbus.
Signing my name to a property transfer."
Diane nodded slowly.
"He forged my signature," I said.
The words felt strange in my mouth.
Flat and enormous at the same time.
"On at least four documents that I've identified so far," she said.
"Possibly more.
The properties were transferred out of marital assets into shell structures before the divorce was filed.
That's why his attorney was so confident in court.
The assets she was working from had already been moved.
On paper, Ellis had very little.
In reality—"
"He had everything," I said.
"And he made sure I had nothing."
Diane closed the folder.
"Sabrina, what I'm about to ask you is important, and I need you to think carefully before you answer." She looked at me steadily.
"Are you willing to be part of this?
Formally.
As a witness and a complainant.
It means giving a statement.
It means your name attached to a federal investigation.
It means Ellis will find out, and when he does, he will come at you hard."
I thought about the courtroom.
Ellis's dry laugh in the parking lot.
The way Noah had looked at me at the airport — not with coldness, but with the careful, frightened eyes of a boy trying to protect his mother from something she didn't yet understand.
"Yes," I said.
Diane reached into her bag again and placed a business card on the table.
Then a second one.
"The first card is mine.
The second belongs to a colleague at the U.S.
Attorney's office.
His name is Raymond Cho.
He's been working the Hale case from the federal side for two years.
He's been waiting for someone with direct access to Ellis's personal documents." She paused.
"Noah told me you used to manage the household accounts.
That Ellis gave you access to certain files when he needed things organized."
"He did," I said.
"For the first eight years of our marriage.
Then he changed the passwords and told me he'd hired someone to handle it."
"Did you ever make copies of anything?
Statements, transfers, correspondence?"
I looked at her.
"I kept records," I said slowly.
"I always kept records.
It was habit.
I have two years of bank statements, property tax documents, and correspondence in a storage box at my sister's house in Westerville.
I put them there when he changed the passwords.
I didn't know why I kept them.
I just did."
For the first time, something shifted in Diane's expression.
Not a smile exactly.
But close.
"How soon can you get to Westerville?" she said.
My phone buzzed on the table between us.
Not the prepaid phone.
My regular phone.
A text from Ellis.
*I heard you've been asking around about my business.
Stop.
You have no idea what you're walking into.
Think about Noah.*
I read it twice.
Then I turned the screen so Diane could see it.
She read it.
Set the phone back down.
"He's watching you," she said quietly.
"I know."
"Are you still willing?"
I picked up Raymond Cho's card and put it in my coat pocket.
May you like
"Call your colleague," I said.
"Tell him I'm ready to talk."
