Chapter 7 - Shadows of the Past
Dad picked up the paper with trembling hands. As he read the signatures—his own forged signature on two of the transfer slips—the realization hit him like a physical blow.
He turned to look at Diane. For the first time in my life, I saw my father look at his favorite child not with adoration or protective indulgence, but with complete, unvarnished recognition.
"Diane..." his voice cracked. "Is this true?"
"Dad, listen to me," she stammered, reaching for his arm. "It was an investment! I was going to pay it back once the boutique opened—"
"You forged my name," he whispered.
"She didn't just forge your name, Dad," I said softly. "She’s been leveraging your house as collateral for her business line of credit. I checked the county records yesterday morning."
Dad sank back into his chair, looking small and defeated. The illusion he had spent decades maintaining—the quiet, orderly family where Diane could do no wrong and I was expected to swallow every insult to keep the peace—had collapsed under the weight of simple arithmetic.
"I am giving you twenty-four hours to transfer the full amount back into the trust from your personal liquid accounts, Diane," I said, standing up and buttoning my jacket. "If the funds aren't returned by 5:00 PM tomorrow, my attorney will file a formal complaint with the district attorney's financial crimes unit."
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"You wouldn't do that to your own sister," Diane hissed, though her voice lacked conviction now. She was terrified.
"Try me," I said.
