The Red Gown

PART 2 — THE SIGNATURE THAT WASN’T MINE

My father’s words followed me long after the music stopped.

A transaction bearing my signature.

One I had never authorized.

“Dad, what exactly did Ethan do?” I asked as he led me into a private conference room adjoining the ballroom.

Helen Maddox closed the door behind us and placed her black folder on the table.

“Three weeks ago, approximately forty-eight million dollars was transferred from a company subsidiary into an offshore consulting account,” she explained. “The transaction was approved using your name.”

I stared at her.

“My name? I don’t even work in the finance department.”

“That’s precisely why we’re concerned.”

Dad sat across from me.

“Ethan had access to several financial records through his executive position. Someone used your old authorization documents to make the transfer appear legitimate.”

My hands began to tremble.

“Are you saying he forged my signature?”

Helen opened the folder and slid a document toward me.

I recognized the signature immediately.

It looked exactly like mine.

But I had never signed it.

“There’s something else,” Helen continued. “The account receiving the money belongs to a company registered under Vanessa Cole’s name.”

I felt sick.

“So they were stealing from my father’s company together?”

“We haven’t established that yet,” Helen replied. “But the evidence suggests they were working together.”

Before I could respond, my phone began vibrating.

Ethan.

I stared at his name before answering.

“What did you tell your father?” he demanded.

“Hello to you too.”

“Stop pretending you don’t understand. Richard just suspended my access. My entire career is being destroyed because of you!”

I looked at the forged signature on the table.

“My signature is on a forty-eight-million-dollar transfer, Ethan.”

Silence.

For the first time, he had nothing to say.

Then his voice changed.

“You need to listen carefully. Don’t sign anything. Don’t speak to Helen. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself involved in.”

I swallowed.

“Did you forge my signature?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No. It’s a yes-or-no question.”

He exhaled sharply.

“You were never supposed to see those documents.”

My blood ran cold.

“Why was my name on them?”

“Because I was protecting you.”

I almost laughed.

“From what? The truth?”

He hung up.

Dad watched me carefully.

“Sweetheart, I want you to stay away from him until we understand what’s happening.”

I nodded, although my thoughts were racing.

Thirteen years.

Thirteen years of believing that my husband was simply ambitious, sometimes selfish, occasionally careless.

Now I wondered whether I had ever truly known him.

Helen closed the folder.

“There’s one more issue. Vanessa left the ballroom immediately after Ethan lost his badge. Security cameras show her entering the executive office.”

“Why?”

“She collected a small black case from his desk.”

Dad stood.

“Get the security footage. Nobody touches another document until we know what was taken.”

I looked toward the ballroom.

Through the glass doors, I could see guests returning to their conversations, pretending they hadn’t witnessed the evening’s humiliation.

But my marriage had become something far more dangerous than an affair.

And I wasn’t going to let anyone use my name to cover their crimes.

At eleven thirty, I returned to our house in Winnetka.

Ethan’s car was already parked outside.

When I entered, I found him standing in the living room, his jacket thrown across the sofa.

“Finally,” he said.

I placed my handbag on the console.

“What do you want?”

He approached me.

“We need to fix this before tomorrow morning.”

“There’s nothing to fix between us.”

His expression tightened.

“Don’t be dramatic. You’re my wife.”

I looked at him for a long moment.

“Then why did you put my name on a fraudulent transfer?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“I told you, it was temporary. The money was supposed to be returned.”

“Did Vanessa know?”

He didn’t answer.

I stepped back.

“Get out of my way, Ethan.”

He grabbed my wrist, then immediately released it when he saw my expression.

“You’re making a terrible mistake.”

“No. My mistake was believing you for thirteen years.”

I walked upstairs, locked the bedroom door, and called Helen.

I had barely finished explaining what happened when she said something that made my stomach drop.

“Richard asked me to check the company’s historical records. There’s a document dated six months ago transferring voting rights in one of the subsidiaries.”

“To whom?”

Helen hesitated.

“To a trust controlled by Ethan.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“How much of the company?”

“Enough to create a serious problem if the document is valid.”

I closed my eyes.

Then Helen added quietly:

“Your signature appears on that document too.”