Chapter 6 - The Forged Signature
Vivienne stared at the recorder in Marco’s hand, her mouth opening and closing in silent shock.
“You’re wearing a wire?” she finally choked out, backing away. “You’re the head of the Santoro family! You don’t work with the police!”
“I don’t,” Marco said, stepping further into the foyer. “But I do work with my attorneys. And blackmailing my fiancée out of my life requires undeniable proof.”
He looked at me, his dark eyes softening for a fraction of a second before turning back to Vivienne.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t investigate the woman I was supposed to marry? I knew your father’s shipping company was a front. What I didn’t know was that you were sociopathic enough to hire the daughter of the man you killed as your personal maid.”
I stood frozen, clutching the contract Vivienne had thrown at me.
“Marco, look at this,” I said, my voice shaking as I held up the paper. “My mother signed an NDA. She took money to keep quiet about my father’s death.”
Marco frowned, crossing the marble floor to stand beside me. He took the paper from my hands and studied it under the dim chandelier light.
Then, he did something unexpected. He pulled the tarnished gold pocket watch out of his pocket and held it next to the signature on the contract.
“Look closely at the ink, Claire,” he murmured.
I squinted. The signature read Mary Bennett. But the loop of the 'M' and the sharp cross of the 't' looked heavy, jagged.
“My mother has arthritis in her hands now,” I said softly. “But twenty years ago, her handwriting was flawless. She was a calligrapher.”
“This isn’t your mother’s handwriting,” Marco confirmed. “This is a forgery. Arthur Ashford forged the NDA to make it look like your mother was complicit, so if anyone ever found the land deed, he could claim she sold it willingly.”
Vivienne shrieked, lunging toward Marco to snatch the paper. “Give that to me!”
One of Marco’s men stepped forward, effortlessly blocking her path. Vivienne stumbled, crashing to her knees on the marble floor.
“It’s over, Vivienne,” Marco said coldly. “The engagement is broken. And tomorrow morning, my lawyers will file a civil suit transferring the title of this estate back to the Bennett family.”
Vivienne looked up, her perfectly styled hair falling in messy strands across her face. A dark, ugly smile spread across her lips.
“You can’t transfer a title if the original owner is dead, Marco.”
Before Marco could react, a deafening crash echoed from the back of the house. The heavy steel security shutters over the mansion’s windows violently slammed shut, locking into place with a magnetic hum.
The lights in the foyer died, plunging us into total darkness.
“Vivienne!” Marco shouted, pulling a flashlight from his coat. The beam cut through the dark, but Vivienne was gone. A hidden panel in the staircase wall stood open.
A heavy, chemical smell began to pump through the air vents.
“Gas,” Marco swore, grabbing my arm. “She’s trapped us in here.”
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“The front door!” I yelled, running toward the entrance. But the deadbolts had been electronically fused. We were locked inside a concrete-reinforced mansion rapidly filling with carbon monoxide.
And somewhere in the dark, a match was struck.
