Chapter 10 - The Signature That Split the Room.
Gabriel called Marcus from Daniel’s office.
He did not accuse him.
That frightened me more than shouting would have.
“Where are the boys?” Gabriel asked.
“With Leah in the hotel suite.”
“Who else is there?”
“Two of my men outside.”
“Names.”
Marcus gave them.
Gabriel listened.
“Stay there.”
A pause.
“Why?” Marcus asked.
“I’ll explain when I arrive.”
Another pause.
“Boss.”
“Stay there.”
Gabriel ended the call.
I stared at him.
“You think he could be involved?”
“No.”
“You did not hesitate.”
“I have trusted Marcus with my life.”
“That is not the same as trusting him with mine.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“No.”
“It isn’t.”
Daniel remained behind his desk, looking exhausted.
“The notarization is five years old.”
“Could the signature be copied?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes.”
“Could the notary stamp?”
“Yes.”
“Then why show us?”
“Because the bank says the notarization was verified by telephone the day the account was opened.”
“Who took the call?”
“They have no recording.”
“Convenient.”
Daniel nodded.
“Very.”
I looked at the document again.
The signature was almost perfect.
But something about it bothered me.
I had seen Marcus sign birthday cards, security logs, and witness statements during my marriage to Gabriel.
He always wrote the H in Hale with an unusually long first stroke.
This signature did too.
Too perfectly.
“Who had access to samples of his signature?” I asked.
Gabriel answered immediately.
“Half the executive floor.”
“Five years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Serena?”
He hesitated.
“She had access to my office.”
“That was not my question.”
“She could have seen documents Marcus signed.”
I thought of Serena on the edge of Gabriel’s desk.
The memory still had teeth.
Daniel shook his head.
“Do not jump from opportunity to guilt.”
I looked at him.
“You are in no position to give lectures about trust.”
He accepted that.
“No.”
“I am not.”
Gabriel took the trust document and notarization copies.
“We’re leaving.”
Daniel stood.
“Gabriel.”
He turned.
“If Vincent has started the legal trigger, he will call a trust meeting.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“He needs formal recognition of the children first.”
“The paternity result does that?” I asked.
“Not by itself.”
“A court acknowledgment, birth certificate amendment, or signed declaration from Gabriel can.”
Gabriel looked at me.
I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Do not sign anything without me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
Daniel added one last warning.
“Vincent may try to force recognition and disqualification at the same time.”
“That makes no sense,” I said.
“It does if his goal is to establish the boys exist legally while proving their mother concealed them for money.”
Gabriel’s face hardened.
“He wants the trust to acknowledge them only long enough to exclude them.”
“Yes.”
Then Daniel looked directly at me.
“And once they are excluded, Vincent’s control becomes permanent.”
We left without saying goodbye.
The drive back to the Wellington was quiet.
Halfway there, Gabriel asked the driver to stop at a pharmacy.
I looked at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying a blue marker.”
I stared for a second.
Then I looked out the window because I did not want him to see my face soften.
He returned with six different blue markers.
I laughed.
“What?”
“You bought six.”
“He did not specify shade or tip width.”
“He is five.”
“Exactly.”
I shook my head.
“This is what happens when a logistics executive becomes a father overnight.”
“Apparently.”
The humor disappeared when the hotel elevator opened.
Marcus stood inside the suite.
Leah sat on the sofa with the boys.
Everyone looked safe.
Relief came first.
Then suspicion followed, and I hated myself for it.
Marcus saw the envelope in Gabriel’s hand.
“What happened?”
Gabriel asked Leah to take the boys into the bedroom.
Owen protested.
“My marker.”
Gabriel handed him the bag.
Owen looked inside.
“Why are there so many?”
Gabriel glanced at me.
“Apparently I overplanned.”
Owen hugged the bag like treasure.
“You can never have too much blue.”
He disappeared into the bedroom.
The door closed.
Gabriel placed the notarization on the table.
Marcus looked down.
His face changed.
“What is that?”
“You tell me.”
Marcus picked it up.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then Marcus laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because he was stunned.
“That is supposed to be my signature?”
“It is your signature,” Gabriel said.
“No.”
“It is a copy of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Marcus sat down.
“I signed hundreds of documents for you when I served as corporate security liaison.”
“This looks like one of those signatures scanned onto another page.”
“How can you tell?” I asked.
He pointed to the H.
“I stopped writing it like this six years ago.”
My pulse jumped.
“Why?”
“I broke my right wrist.”
“After physical therapy, my handwriting changed.”
Gabriel stared at the date.
The document was supposedly signed five years ago.
Marcus held out his hand.
“I can show you.”
He took a pen and signed his name.
The H was shorter now.
Less dramatic.
“When did you break your wrist?” Gabriel asked.
“February, six years ago.”
“Who knew?”
“Everyone.”
“Who had old signature samples?”
“Anyone with access to archived corporate documents.”
Marcus looked at the forged page again.
“This was not made by someone who knew me well.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because anyone close to me would have used a newer signature.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“So whoever forged this used an archive.”
“Yes.”
Marcus looked offended now.
Deeply.
“Where did this come from?”
“Daniel Reeves.”
Marcus swore under his breath.
I gave him a look toward the bedroom.
“Sorry.”
Gabriel explained the account and trust clause.
Marcus listened without interrupting.
When Gabriel finished, Marcus’s face had become cold.
“Then we need the archive access logs.”
“From five years ago?” I asked.
“Cross Freight kept them.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Pull them.”
Marcus opened his laptop.
Within an hour, old IT records filled the screen.
The archive containing Marcus’s signature scans had been accessed eleven times during the month before my divorce.
Most were routine.
Legal department.
Human resources.
Insurance.
One login stood out.
A temporary executive credential.
Issued to an outside consultant working on brand strategy.
The consultant company was Vale Image Group.
Serena’s firm.
My stomach tightened.
Marcus looked at Gabriel.
“She had credentials.”
Gabriel said nothing.
I called Serena.
She answered quickly.
“What now?”
“Did you have access to Gabriel’s corporate archive five years ago?”
Silence.
“I had temporary access to some brand materials.”
“Did you access security documents?”
“No.”
“Your credentials did.”
“That does not mean I did.”
“Who else used them?”
“My assistant sometimes.”
“Name.”
Serena hesitated.
“Lydia Moore.”
Marcus typed.
Gabriel’s expression changed.
“I know that name.”
Serena heard him.
“From where?”
Gabriel looked at Marcus.
Marcus found the personnel file.
“Lydia Moore worked for Vale Image Group for eight months.”
“Before that?” I asked.
Marcus scrolled.
Then he stopped.
“She worked as an administrative assistant for Peter Sloan.”
The network tightened again.
Serena swore quietly.
“I did not know that.”
“Where is Lydia now?” Gabriel asked.
“I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
Marcus kept searching.
“She owns a public relations consultancy in Brooklyn.”
I looked at the forged custody petition.
A public relations consultant.
Someone who understood headlines.
Someone with access to Serena’s credentials.
Someone who once worked for Sloan.
Gabriel’s phone buzzed.
Rebecca had sent a message.
The judge had scheduled an emergency hearing on the fake custody petition for the next morning.
But that was not the worst part.
A major New York tabloid had just published a front-page teaser online.
The headline read:
BILLIONAIRE BOSS’S SECRET TRIPLETS: DID THEIR MOTHER TAKE MONEY TO VANISH?
Underneath was the forged bank statement.
And beside it was a photograph of me leaving the hospital five years earlier.
Holding three newborn carriers.
Someone had been watching from the very beginning.
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THE THREE BOYS GABRIEL CROSS NEVER KNEW
