Then I reached the section labeled:
**PROPERTY OWNER AUTHORIZATION**
Under it was my name.
Marianne Whitcomb.
And beneath my name was a signature.
It was supposed to be mine.
It wasn’t.
Daniel used to tease me because the capital M in my signature always leaned too far to the right.
This one stood perfectly straight.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Denise went still.
“I understand.”
“No. I need you to understand exactly what I’m saying.”
I pointed to the page.
“That signature is not mine.”
The next hour became a blur of forms, supervisors, identification checks, withdrawal requests, and paperwork documenting a disputed signature.
From the parking lot, I called a locksmith.
Then I changed the cottage internet password.
Then I opened the smart-lock app Daniel and I had installed near the end of his life.
Seven access codes existed.
I had created two.
Mine.
And Bradley’s.
The others were labeled things like:
MILLER FAMILY JULY
JEN + GIRLS
GOLF WEEKEND
MOM & DAD
I stared at them.
