The Signature From a Grave
Chapter 07 - The Signature From a Grave
The forged signature altered the case. The investigators referred the document to the appropriate authorities and began tracing the notary record, the electronic upload, and the company that benefited from the sale.
Celeste's attorney sent a statement denying her involvement. She said her name had been dragged into a complex commercial dispute because Adrian was grieving. News outlets repeated the denial alongside the emerging allegations. Some coverage was careful. Much of it wasn't.
One reporter waited outside Sophie's school. I shielded her from the cameras and told the principal. The school put a plan in place so my daughter could arrive and leave without becoming someone's sensational photograph.
Adrian learned about the incident and apologized. “My name brought this to your door.”
“The decisions of people pursuing us brought it,” I answered. “What matters is stopping it.”
He supported our request for privacy publicly without revealing where we lived. For once, a billionaire's platform was used to ask people to leave a child alone.
The forged approval led to a former compliance employee, Peter Voss. He agreed to meet investigators with counsel present. He said the signature file came from a password-protected archive maintained for the foundation's executive committee. The account used to submit it had belonged to a deputy director who reported to Celeste.
That evidence was not enough to show that Celeste had personally ordered the forgery. But it narrowed the field.
One afternoon, Adrian brought me a photocopy of a letter from Lydia. She'd written it months before her death and never mailed it.
“Dad, when you come to a performance, don't watch only the child in the spotlight. Look at the ones who are waiting to be invited onto the floor.”
I read it twice. Adrian spoke quietly.
“You were the one who let Sophie dance.”
“She asked me. I only stopped telling her to be afraid.”
He smiled through tears. “Lydia would have liked that.”
Later Sophie asked to attend the foundation's next community showcase. I worried that the attention would overwhelm her. Ms. Rowan suggested we let Sophie decide closer to the date and make a plan for leaving early if needed.
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That night I wrote three things on the refrigerator: We can say no. We can ask for help. We can leave.
Sophie added a fourth in crooked purple letters: We can dance anyway.
