I took out my phone, and I started checking the promissory notes.
PART 3
Here’s what Penelope and my mother forgot about me.
I don’t take anyone’s word for anything, including my family’s. And I had access to things they didn’t think about.
The promissory notes with Clara’s forged signature — I photographed every one Penelope had left lying around in her arrogance. And I compared them to Clara’s actual signature, which I have on a hundred documents: our marriage license, our lease, the power of attorney we’d filed before my deployment.
They didn’t match. Of course they didn’t. Penelope had forged them, and she’d forged them badly, because she’d never expected anyone to actually check — she’d counted on Clara being too beaten-down to fight and me being too far away to look.
