CHAPTER 4 — THE DOCUMENTS THAT SHATTERED THE PARTY
The champagne glass exploded across the marble floor.
No one moved.
No one even breathed.
Every guest stared at the elderly attorney standing calmly beside the entrance while crystal fragments glittered around my mother's expensive heels.
Mother forced an awkward laugh.
"Oh, Harold... surely this isn't the place."
The old man didn't smile.
"My name is Harold Whitmore. I've practiced law for forty-two years."
He slowly raised the thick leather folder.
"And everything inside this file has already been verified by the bank, the county recorder's office, and the Internal Revenue Service."
My sister Prudence suddenly stepped forward.
"This is ridiculous."
Harold ignored her.
Instead, he looked directly at me.
"Mr. Daniel Foster?"
"Yes."
"I've spent four years trying to contact you."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
He opened the folder.
"The first time I became suspicious was after your third overseas transfer."
He laid several bank statements across the dining table.
"Every month, eighteen hundred dollars entered your mother's account."
I nodded.
"That's correct."
"But none of those funds were transferred to your wife."
The room fell silent.
Instead...
they had been divided.
Luxury boutiques.
Private vacations.
Designer jewelry.
Country club memberships.
Casino withdrawals.
Five-star resorts.
Thousands of dollars spent on everything except the woman and child I had nearly died to support.
Harold placed another document beside the first.
"This is where it becomes criminal."
He pointed toward a signature.
"Do you recognize this?"
I looked closer.
It was my name.
Daniel Foster.
Only...
I had never signed it.
"I didn't write this."
"I know."
Harold nodded.
"The handwriting expert confirmed it."
My mother's face lost what little color remained.
"Someone forged your signature."
The ballroom erupted into whispers.
"No..."
Prudence snapped.
"He's lying!"
Harold calmly produced another folder.
"Unfortunately, there's more."
He turned toward the guests.
"Three years ago, Mrs. Gertrude Foster obtained a second mortgage against this mansion."
I blinked.
"What?"
Mother screamed.
"Stop talking!"
Harold continued.
"Using forged authorization papers."
Another document.
Another fake signature.
Another theft.
The mansion...
The home I had spent five years building...
was drowning in debt.
And I hadn't known a single thing.
I slowly turned toward Mother.
"How much?"
She refused to answer.
"Mother."
Still nothing.
Harold answered for her.
"Nine hundred and eighty-two thousand dollars."
Nearly one million dollars.
Gone.
The mayor slowly removed his glasses.
Several guests quietly stepped away from my mother as though she had become contagious.
Then Harold said something that made my blood run cold.
"Mr. Foster..."
"This isn't the worst part."
He reached into the folder one last time.
"There were also life insurance policies."
I frowned.
"What policies?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"Three separate policies."
"One on you."
"One on Sarah."
"And..."
May you like
he hesitated,
"...one on your six-year-old son."
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