Chapter 3: My Mother's Last Warning
I drove to the old workshop that afternoon.
It stood on a narrow street behind a row of converted warehouses.
The building looked smaller than I remembered.
The faded blue door still had a brass handle. Ivy crawled up the brickwork, and the windows were covered in a thin layer of dust.
My mother had spent thirty-two years there.
She had taught me to sand wood without rushing, to recognize quality by touch, and to understand that a beautiful object meant nothing if it wasn't built to last.
I unlocked the door.
The smell hit me immediately.
Cedar.
Old paint.
Beeswax.
And something faintly metallic from the tools hanging along the back wall.
I stood there for a moment.
Then I noticed the desk.
It had been moved.
My mother had always kept it beneath the front window. Now it stood against the opposite wall.
Someone had been inside.
I approached it.
The drawers were closed, but the bottom one had a fresh scratch along its edge.
I pulled.
It didn't move.
I tried again.
A small metal catch clicked.
The drawer slid open.
Inside was a stack of envelopes, a broken measuring tape, and a black leather notebook.
My mother's notebook.
I opened it.
Most of the pages contained measurements, sketches, and restoration notes.
But halfway through, I found a section labeled:
*BENNETT STUDIO — LEGAL STRUCTURE.*
The first page listed the workshop property.
The second listed the original company registration.
The third contained a handwritten note.
Evan asked me again about transferring the building. I told him no. He said Nora would eventually understand.
My fingers tightened around the notebook.
I turned the page.
He believes that because he married my daughter, he has a claim to everything she creates.
Another page.
I have seen him copying Nora's signature.
I stopped.
The room seemed to tilt.
I read it again.
Then again.
My mother had written the date.
Five years earlier.
Beneath the note was a phone number.
I took out my phone and dialed.
A man answered after four rings.
"Hello?""
"Is this Harold Mitchell?""
Silence.
"Who's asking?""
"My name is Nora Bennett.""
The silence became longer.
Then he said, "I think you've got the wrong number.""
"I don't think so. You notarized a business ownership agreement involving my company.""
He exhaled sharply.
"Listen, I don't want any trouble.""
"Then tell me why your name is on a document I never signed.""
"I can't discuss that over the phone.""
"Did you witness my signature?""
Another pause.
"No.""
My knees nearly gave way.
"Then why did you certify it?""
"I didn't certify that document.""
I looked at the notebook.
"Your name and stamp are on it.""
"Someone must have copied them.""
"Who?""
"I can't say.""
"Mr. Mitchell, I have a court filing with your name on it.""
He lowered his voice.
"Your ex-husband came to my office several years ago. He said he needed a copy of a document signed by his wife. He brought the paperwork already prepared.""
"Did you see me sign it?""
"No.""
"Did you speak to me?""
"No.""
"Then how did you agree to this?""
"I didn't. I refused to notarize it.""
I gripped the desk.
"Are you willing to put that in writing?""
He was quiet.
Then he said, "Yes.""
My heart began pounding.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?""
"Because Evan told me you were aware of the arrangement. He said it was a family matter.""
"It wasn't.""
"I know that now.""
I closed my eyes.
"Mr. Mitchell, did he say anything else?""
"Yes.""
"What?""
"He said your mother was making things difficult.""
The words landed like a slap.
I looked down at the notebook.
"What did he mean?""
"I don't know. But he mentioned a trust. Something about a property transfer your mother refused to approve.""
I thanked him and ended the call.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I heard footsteps outside.
I looked toward the door.
A woman stood in the entrance.
Claire.
She wore sunglasses, a designer coat, and the same expression she had worn in the house when the movers removed the chandelier.
"Well," she said, looking around.
"I wondered where you'd disappeared to.""
I closed the notebook.
"How did you know I was here?""
She shrugged.
"Social media. You'd be surprised what people post.""
"I haven't posted anything.""
"Your warehouse manager did.""
I stared at her.
"What do you want, Claire?""
She removed her sunglasses.
"To talk.""
"Then talk.""
She looked at the desk.
"You're going to make this much worse than it needs to be.""
I almost smiled.
"That's an interesting thing to say to someone whose ex-fiancé is filing false documents against her.""
Her expression changed.
"He's not filing false documents.""
"Then why did the notary deny witnessing my signature?""
Claire blinked.
Just once.
But I saw it.
"You spoke to Harold?""
"So you know him.""
She looked away.
"That's not what I said.""
"Then why are you worried?""
Claire crossed her arms.
"Look, Evan has been under enormous pressure. You know how much he sacrificed during the marriage.""
I laughed.
"What did he sacrifice?""
"His opportunities. His career. His time.""
"He had a career?""
Her cheeks reddened.
"That's exactly the attitude that drove him away.""
I picked up the notebook.
"Did he tell you about the workshop deed?""
Claire looked at me.
For the first time, her expression was genuinely uncertain.
"What deed?""
I stepped closer.
"My mother's property. The building that Bennett Studio was founded in.""
Claire swallowed.
"I don't know anything about that.""
"Then you won't mind if I ask Evan.""
She grabbed her handbag.
"Don't do that.""
"Why?""
"Because you have no idea what you're getting involved in.""
I studied her face.
There was no anger now.
Only fear.
"Claire, what did Evan tell you?""
She shook her head.
"Nothing.""
"Then why are you here?""
She looked toward the door.
Then she said something so quietly I almost missed it.
"Because he told me you were going to sign the building over to him.""
I froze.
"What?""
"He said your mother had already agreed. He said you were just delaying the paperwork because you were emotional.""
"When did he tell you that?""
"Before we got engaged.""
I stared at her.
My mother had died before Claire and Evan had even met.
"Claire, listen carefully. My mother never agreed to give Evan that building.""
Her face went pale.
"But he showed me the deed.""
"What deed?""
"A copy. With your mother's signature.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Where is it?""
"I don't have it.""
"Where is it, Claire?""
She took a step backward.
"Evan keeps it in his office.""
I opened my mouth.
But before I could ask another question, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Evan.
She declined the call.
It rang again.
She declined it once more.
Then a message appeared.
I saw the first line.
Don't tell Nora about the second deed.
Claire locked her phone.
Too late.
I had already read it.
"There's a second deed?"" I asked.
She said nothing.
Then she turned toward the door.
"Claire.""
She stopped.
"Why did you come here?""
She looked back at me.
And for the first time since I had known her, she didn't look smug.
She looked terrified.
"Because I think Evan is planning to sell the building.""
Then she left.
I stood in the workshop, holding my mother's notebook.
A second deed.
A forged signature.
And a property my mother had apparently spent years trying to protect.
I called Margaret.
She answered immediately.
"Nora?""
"Find out whether Evan has listed the old workshop for sale.""
A pause.
"Why?""
"Because I think he's trying to sell something he doesn't own.""
Margaret inhaled sharply.
"Don't touch anything. I'm sending someone to secure the property records.""
I looked at the empty space where my mother's desk had once stood.
"Margaret, there's something else.""
"What?""
"My mother knew this was coming.""
I turned to the notebook.
On the final page, beneath a list of measurements, was one sentence.
If Evan ever tries to sell the building, contact Daniel Whitmore.
I read the name aloud.
Margaret went silent.
Then she asked:
"Nora, do you know who Daniel Whitmore is?""
I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me.
"No.""
"He's the attorney who handled your mother's estate.""
I looked at the handwriting.
"Then why would she leave his name here?""
May you like
Margaret's voice dropped.
"Because, Nora, your mother may have known exactly what Evan was planning.""
