Chapter 3 - The Second Portrait
Caleb did not stay long.
He was not a detective.
Not a family mediator.
He gave me:
A copy of the original order request.
The digital proof approvals.
A USB containing the versions Northstar was allowed to release.
A signed statement from the studio confirming the sequence of edits.
Then he left.
Nobody touched breakfast.
I inserted the USB into Dad’s television through the media port.
The first image appeared.
Original.
Ella beside me.
The second:
Ella removed.
The one above the fireplace.
The third image made Nicole gasp.
I was still there.
So were Dad, Mom, Nicole, and Nicole’s children.
Eric was gone.
Paige gone.
Ella gone.
Only:
Diane.
Frank.
Nicole.
Haley.
Kenzie.
Ethan.
And me.
I stared.
“Why am I still there?”
Nobody answered.
Then I read the order notes.
Customer: Nicole Harris.
Requested edits:
Remove child in lavender.
Tighten composition.
Second version:
Remove Eric and Paige also.
Keep Rebecca until transfer completed.
My stomach turned.
“Transfer.”
Dad whispered:
“Nicole.”
She looked at him.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You said Mom wanted it.”
Diane snapped:
“Do not drag me into something you invented.”
Nicole laughed in disbelief.
“You told me exactly who to remove.”
“Not that wording.”
“Seriously?”
I turned.
“What transfer?”
Dad stood.
“Nothing.”
“Then you won’t mind giving me every document you expected me to sign.”
He looked toward Mom.
That was enough.
Sarah’s notice demanded preservation.
I said:
“No one destroys anything.”
Nicole scoffed.
“You think you’re police now?”
“No. I think I own the house you’re apparently making plans for.”
Mom pointed.
“You are holding paper for us.”
“No.”
“That was always the agreement.”
“Then produce it.”
Dad became defensive.
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I know what I signed.”
Eric stood slowly.
“Wait.”
Everybody turned.
He looked confused.
“Mom, you told me Rebecca was giving the house back after the mortgage stabilized.”
Mom stared.
“That was the plan.”
I laughed.
“Whose plan?”
“Rebecca, don’t pretend.”
“Show me where I agreed.”
Dad said:
“You benefited from owning it.”
“How?”
“Credit history.”
I almost laughed harder.
“I took on a thirty year mortgage for you.”
“You got equity.”
“Yes. Because I bought it.”
The word bought hit differently.
Mom looked at me as though betrayal had originated there.
“You didn’t buy your childhood home from us.”
“Legally, I did.”
“We were desperate.”
“And I helped.”
“Help does not mean stealing.”
That word changed room.
Ella was listening.
I immediately lowered voice.
“Go upstairs, sweetheart.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Ella.”
“I want to stay with you.”
I looked at her.
Then around room.
“You can stay. But adults are going to discuss money.”
“Okay.”
Nicole said:
“Why is she even here for this?”
I turned.
“Because you already involved her.”
Silence.
I opened my phone.
Called Sarah.
Speaker.
She answered.
“Rebecca?”
“We have references to a transfer.”
“Explain.”
I summarized Northstar notes.
Sarah became quiet.
“Ask Frank whether he possesses any agreement, deed, trust, option, lease, or other instrument claiming Rebecca agreed to reconvey property.”
I repeated.
Dad’s eyes moved.
“There may be something.”
There.
“What?”
“A family memorandum.”
“Signed by?”
“You.”
My skin went cold.
“I have never signed a family memorandum.”
Mom said:
“Yes, you did.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Show me.”
Dad did not move.
“Now.”
He walked toward study.
Nicole whispered:
“This is ridiculous.”
Eric said:
“Shut up, Nicole.”
First time he had ever said that.
Dad returned carrying a blue folder.
He placed it down.
Page heading:
Family Property Understanding.
It stated that although title rested with Rebecca Morgan “for financing convenience,” Rebecca acknowledged Diane and Frank remained equitable owners and that Rebecca intended to transfer legal title back once the refinance “objectives” were satisfied.
At bottom:
Rebecca Morgan.
A signature.
Mine.
Or something very close.
Date:
December 27, three years earlier.
I stared.
I had never seen it.
Mom said:
“There.”
I looked at Dad.
“Where did I sign this?”
“At Christmas.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I did not.”
Nicole smiled.
“Looks like you did.”
Sarah’s voice came from phone.
“Rebecca, do not mark the document. Photograph front and back. Ask whether Frank intends to claim it as genuine.”
Dad’s face changed.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
I repeated:
“Are you claiming I signed this?”
He hesitated.
Mom said:
“Yes.”
Dad closed eyes.
Then:
“I believe you did.”
Not yes.
“I believe.”
Sarah heard.
“Good. Preserve original.”
Nicole reached toward folder.
I took it first.
“You’re not taking Dad’s property.”
“It concerns my property and my alleged signature.”
Dad said:
“Leave it.”
I photographed.
Then returned it.
Sarah said:
“We’ll request inspection through counsel.”
I ended call.
Ella whispered:
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Did you sign it?”
“No.”
“Then why does it look like you?”
I stared at signature.
Because somebody had copied me well.
That was my first thought.
Then I noticed date.
December 27.
Three years earlier.
I knew exactly where I had been.
In Cincinnati.
At the hospital.
Because Ella had appendicitis two days after Christmas.
I had spent December 26 through December 29 sleeping beside her hospital bed.
My parents knew.
Nicole knew.
Eric knew.
I looked at Dad.
“December twenty seventh.”
His face changed.
“You weren’t here.”
Silence.
“You visited us at Children’s Hospital.”
Mom stared at date.
Nicole stopped smiling.
May you like
For the first time, the document frightening my parents was not mine.
It was theirs.
