I had always disliked Peter Lawson.
Not because he was openly rude.
He wasn't.
Peter was the kind of man who remembered birthdays, complimented expensive shoes, and called waiters by their first names after reading their badges.
He made people feel noticed.
But whenever he spoke to me, I had the uncomfortable impression that he was measuring what I owned.
The first time he visited our house, he spent more time admiring the property than discussing Dereck's business.
“Beautiful place,” he said.
Then he asked whether we had considered using the equity for investments.
I told him no.
He smiled.
“Smart people always keep their options open.”
Now his name appeared on a document that could threaten the house.
Eleanor explained that Peter held a notary commission.
His acknowledgment claimed I had appeared before him and signed the disputed statement.
“I've never signed anything in front of Peter,” I said.
“Then we need to establish where you were on the date listed.”
I checked my calendar.
The notarization was dated September eighteenth.
I had been attending a two-day accounting conference in Baltimore.
My employer had paid for the hotel.
I still had the confirmation email.
“Would that help?”
“Very much.”
I forwarded the records.
Then I remembered something else.
The conference had required electronic check-in for every session.
My attendance records would show when I entered and left.
Eleanor asked me to request them immediately.
By morning, my employer had sent the documentation.
I had attended sessions throughout the day.
The supposed notarization occurred at 2:15 p.m.
At that exact time, I was participating in a workshop nearly two hours from home.
Eleanor studied the records.
“This is significant.”
“Does it prove he forged my signature?”
“It strongly challenges his claim that you appeared before him. We'll need the original notarial record and any supporting evidence.”
I looked at the timestamp.
2:15 p.m.
A precise lie.
Someone had chosen a date and time without checking where I actually was.
Robert arrived carrying a paper bag of breakfast sandwiches.
He placed one in front of me.
“Eat.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“Then be not hungry while eating.”
It sounded so much like my father that I almost smiled.
Robert sat down.
“I did some checking.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“Legally, I hope.”
“Public records only.”
He had found that Peter's consulting company had recently been named in two civil disputes involving unpaid contractors.
Neither proved wrongdoing in my case.
But both suggested financial trouble.
More importantly, Northbridge Capital Partners had an address matching a commercial building where Peter rented office space.
“Could Peter own the lender?” I asked.
“Possibly,” Robert said. “The public filing lists a holding company. We need more information.”
Eleanor cautioned us not to jump to conclusions.
But she agreed that the connection warranted investigation.
That afternoon, Dereck appeared outside Mom's house.
I saw his car through the living-room window.
He stood beside it holding a bouquet of white roses.
My favorite flowers.
For years, he had bought them on our anniversary.
Now the sight made me feel tired.
Mom looked through the curtain.
“Do you want me to tell him to leave?”
I shook my head.
“I'll speak to him.”
“Not alone.”
Robert accompanied me onto the porch.
Dereck looked relieved when he saw me.
“Claire.”
He stepped forward.
I remained near the door.
“What do you want?”
He glanced at Robert.
“Can we talk privately?”
“No.”
His expression tightened.
“I'm your husband.”
“I know.”
He held out the flowers.
“I brought these.”
I didn't take them.
After a moment, he lowered his hand.
“Peter made some mistakes,” he said.
“What kind?”
“Paperwork mistakes.”
“Did he forge my signature?”
Dereck looked toward the street.
“It's complicated.”
“Did you know?”
“Claire, please.”
“Did you know?”
He swallowed.
“I knew he was trying to arrange financing.”
“Using my house?”
“I thought we could pay it back before anything happened.”
I felt something inside me go still.
“You knew.”
“I didn't know he'd file those documents.”
“But you knew he was using my property.”
Dereck rubbed his forehead.
“The business was collapsing. I had employees depending on me.”
“How many?”
He looked confused.
“What?”
“How many employees, Dereck?”
“That's not the point.”
“You told me you had six.”
He said nothing.
I remembered the photographs he'd shown me.
A rented office.
A conference table.
A company logo.
But I'd never met an employee.
I'd never seen payroll records.
And whenever I asked about clients, he changed the subject.
“Was there ever a real business?” I asked.
His face reddened.
“Of course there was.”
“Then show me the accounts.”
“Claire—”
“Show me.”
He looked at Robert.
“You're turning her against me.”
Robert folded his arms.
“I haven't said a word.”
Dereck looked back at me.
“I made mistakes. I admit that. But if you cooperate, we can still protect the house.”
I stared at him.
“Cooperate how?”
He hesitated.
Then he said, “Withdraw the challenge.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
He had come to my mother's house with flowers.
He had admitted knowing about the financing.
And his solution was for me to stop questioning documents bearing a signature I hadn't written.
“Leave,” I said.
“Claire.”
“Leave.”
He looked toward the flowers.
Then he placed them on the porch railing.
“I love you.”
I watched him walk back to his car.
For the first time in ten years, I didn't answer.
END PART 4
