Chapter 5: The Signature
“That isn't my signature.””
Julian said it so quietly I almost didn't hear him.
I held the photograph beneath the fluorescent light.
The handwriting on the back was unmistakably neat. Controlled. The final name slanted sharply upward.
Julian.
I looked at my husband.
“You expect me to believe that?””
“I was eighteen.””
“You were there.””
“I said I don't remember being there.””
“There's a photograph.””
“I can see that, Grace.””
Lucas stepped closer.
His eyes remained fixed on the younger Julian.
“Let me see.””
I handed him the photograph.
For several seconds, Lucas said nothing.
Then his thumb moved over Julian's younger face.
“I remember him.””
My stomach dropped.
Julian went pale.
“From that night?””
Lucas looked up.
“Yes.””
I stepped away from my husband.
“Grace.””
“Don't.””
“You've known me fifteen years.””
“And apparently I've known half of you.””
Julian flinched.
Lucas placed the photograph on the table.
“He was frightened.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
“The boy.””
Julian's eyes narrowed.
“Me?””
Lucas nodded.
“You came into the trailer while I was arguing with your father.””
“What did I say?””
“I don't remember.””
“Try.””
Lucas squeezed his eyes shut.
Richard Mercer appeared to be pulling memories from him like broken glass.
“I was holding documents. Your father told me they belonged to Mercer Development.””
Lucas's breathing became shallow.
“I said people could die.””
Julian whispered, “What happened?””
“You walked in.””
Lucas opened his eyes.
“You looked at your father and asked, ‘Is it true?’”
Julian gripped the chair.
“And?””
“He told you to get out.””
The tension in my chest shifted.
“Did Julian write that note?””
Lucas looked at the handwriting again.
“I don't know.””
Julian moved suddenly toward a cabinet.
“What are you doing?””
“Finding something.””
He searched two drawers, then opened a box labeled PERSONAL—R. MERCER.
Inside were correspondence files.
Julian pulled several pages free.
“My father used assistants for nearly everything, but he personally signed sensitive documents.””
He placed a letter beside the photograph.
I compared the handwriting.
My anger faltered.
Richard's capital J was identical to the J in Julian's name on the photograph.
Julian pointed.
“My father forged my signature.””
“Why?””
“I don't know.””
Lucas spoke.
“To blame you.””
Julian looked at him.
“For what?””
Lucas's face tightened again.
Then he whispered, “The police.””
We waited.
“I remember police lights.””
“After the collapse?”” I asked.
“No.””
His eyes widened.
“Before.””
Julian leaned forward.
“Police came before the building fell?””
Lucas nodded.
“I called them.””
My pulse accelerated.
“I told Richard I had copies. He laughed at me.””
“Copies of what?””
“Purchase orders. Engineering reports. Proof the structural steel didn't meet specifications.””
Lucas pressed his fingertips against his forehead.
“I called the police from the trailer.””
“What happened?””
“A patrol car arrived.””
His face twisted.
“Richard spoke to the officer outside.””
“And?””
“The officer left.””
I felt sick.
Julian's jaw clenched.
“My father paid him.””
“We don't know that,” I said automatically.
Julian gave me a grim look.
“Now who's establishing facts?””
Before I could answer, Lucas reached for another folder.
A folded newspaper clipping slipped onto the table.
Julian opened it.
LOCAL DEVELOPER'S SON QUESTIONED AFTER HALSTED SITE ACCIDENT.
My eyes snapped toward him.
“You were questioned?””
Julian read quickly.
His face emptied of color.
“I don't remember this.””
I grabbed the clipping.
The article said eighteen-year-old Julian Mercer had been briefly interviewed after witnesses reported seeing him near the site shortly before the collapse.
No charges were filed.
Richard Mercer had told reporters his son had been home by midnight.
“You told me you didn't remember being there.””
“I don't.””
“Were you drinking?””
“No.””
“Drugs?””
“No.””
“Then how do you forget being questioned by police?””
“I don't know!””
His voice echoed across the archive room.
Lucas stared at him.
Then he asked something that silenced us both.
“Have you ever had memory loss?””
Julian looked away.
That tiny movement was enough.
“Julian?””
He rubbed his jaw.
“When I was eighteen, I had an accident.””
“What accident?””
“Car.””
“When?””
“Two days after the Halsted collapse.””
I stared at him.
“You never told me that.””
“It wasn't a secret.””
“You've never mentioned it.””
“I spent three weeks in the hospital. Concussion. Broken ribs. My father said I'd driven after drinking.””
“Did you?””
“I believed I did.””
“Believed?””
Julian slowly sat down.
“I don't remember getting into the car.””
The room became unbearably quiet.
Lucas whispered, “Your father.””
Julian looked at him.
“You think he caused it?””
“I don't know.””
A phone rang.
We all jumped.
Julian pulled his cell from his pocket.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Julian Mercer.””
Silence.
Then his expression changed.
“Who is this?””
I moved closer.
A distorted male voice was faintly audible through the phone.
“You should have left Halsted buried.””
Julian put the call on speaker.
“Identify yourself.””
The caller laughed.
“Ask your wife how much she wants her father back.””
I grabbed the phone.
“Who are you?””
Lucas turned sharply toward the archive-room door.
The caller whispered four words.
“Check the security cameras.””
The line went dead.
Julian immediately opened the building security app.
The camera outside the archive room showed an empty corridor.
Then the feed went black.
May you like
A metallic click sounded behind us.
Someone had locked the archive-room door from the outside.
