Chapter 3 - The Signature That Wasn’t Mine
The document gave Theresa extraordinary control.
Banking.
Property.
Insurance.
Medical decisions in specific emergencies.
It supposedly dated back eighteen months.
I had been in Alberta that day.
Working a double shift.
I could prove it.
“What did she use this for?”
Lucy swallowed.
“Everything.”
My monthly transfers had gone into Theresa’s account because I trusted her to oversee construction on the house.
What I didn’t know was that after the first year, she began presenting herself as my authorized financial representative.
She refinanced part of the property.
Opened credit.
Moved money through a company called Carter Family Services.
I had never heard of it.
Brianna owned sixty percent.
Theresa owned forty.
“What did you do when you found out?”
“I confronted them.”
“When?”
“Eleven months ago.”
Exactly when Lucy became sick.
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
She understood what I was thinking.
“I’m not saying they caused the cancer.”
Good.
That mattered.
But the timing still mattered for another reason.
Once Lucy became ill, Theresa gained the perfect weapon.
She told everyone Lucy had become confused.
Emotional.
Unreliable.
When Lucy accused them of taking money, Theresa blamed medication.
When Lucy objected to Brianna’s salon being funded from my transfers, they said illness had made her jealous.
When she tried to contact me privately, they limited her access to Wi-Fi and replaced her phone with an old device.
“She told me you didn’t want to hear about my illness.”
I felt physically sick.
“Why would you believe that?”
Lucy looked down.
“Because she showed me messages.”
Messages supposedly from me.
Stop making everything about treatment.
I’m trying to build our future.
Don’t keep asking Mom for money.
I had never written any of them.
My family had not merely kept information from us.
They had built two separate marriages.
One for me in Canada, where Lucy was “doing fine.”
Another for Lucy in America, where I supposedly considered her illness a burden.
“Why didn’t you contact my coworkers?”
“I didn’t know them.”
“My shop?”
“Theresa told me you’d lose your work permit if I caused trouble.”
Another lie.
Then Lucy explained the shaved head.
Partly treatment.
Partly humiliation.
After sections began falling unevenly, Theresa insisted on shaving the rest.
Not gently.
Not compassionately.
Brianna recorded it while laughing that Lucy looked like “a sick little prisoner.”
My hands shook.
“Where is the recording?”
“Brianna’s old tablet.”
“Where?”
Lucy stared at me.
“The nail salon.”
Before I could answer, my attorney in Minneapolis called.
“Nathan, your announcement worked.”
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to access the account we created as bait.”
My heart began pounding.
“Who?”
“Your sister.”
I looked at Lucy.
But the attorney wasn’t finished.
“Brianna didn’t try to withdraw anything.”
“What did she do?”
“She uploaded a document claiming your settlement proceeds had already been pledged.”
“To whom?”
Silence.
Then:
“A company called North Ridge Recovery.”
I had never heard of it.
Lucy had.
Her eyes widened when I said the name.
“That’s the company paying my medical bills.”
I frowned.
“I thought your bills weren’t being paid.”
“They weren’t.”
“Then why would North Ridge—”
Lucy grabbed my wrist.
“Nathan…”
She looked terrified.
“North Ridge doesn’t pay the hospital.”
“What does it pay?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Theresa.”
