PART 3: SIGNED IN MY NAME
I shot to my feet so fast the bed frame scraped across the floor.
“Daniel, I have never signed anything for Dylan. Not once.”
He went quiet for a moment.
“That explains something else.”
“What?”
Daniel told me Dylan had also been describing me as a financially struggling sister he was helping support while I tried to establish myself professionally. Somehow, he had built an entire version of my life in which he was the successful provider and I was the family burden.
I closed my eyes.
“Daniel, I need copies of everything he submitted.”
“I can provide the material involving your firm. Our legal department is already reviewing it.”
Then his tone shifted again.
“There’s another issue.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“What kind of issue?”
“Dylan also submitted financial information about your family’s property as part of a proposed arrangement involving an advance and additional project expenses.”
I stared at the wall.
“Our house?”
“Yes.”
I could barely process the words.
“What does our house have to do with Mercer Freight?”
“That’s exactly what we need to discuss.”
Daniel asked whether I could meet that afternoon.
I looked at Grandma’s photograph beside the bed.
“I’ll be there.”
By the time the call ended, being thrown out of the house no longer felt like the worst thing Dylan had done.
Now I had to find out exactly how much of my life he had been using without my permission.
Before leaving for the meeting with Mercer Freight, I phoned my business partner, Rebecca Shaw. We had founded Northline Design three years earlier with two laptops, a rented office, and more confidence than money.
Rebecca was a licensed architect with a gift for solving complicated structural problems, while my strengths were technical design, commercial planning, and project coordination. Together, we had built Northline into a respected fourteen-person firm handling warehouses, manufacturing facilities, distribution centers, and other large commercial developments.
Mercer Freight had become one of our most important clients. That was why Daniel’s call had frightened me far more than Dylan could possibly grasp.
Rebecca listened quietly as I explained everything.
“Tell me you didn’t sign anything.”
“Of course I didn’t.”
“Good. Forward me whatever Daniel sent you.”
She paused.
“Mara, I have to ask. Why does your brother think he can speak for our firm?”
I looked at Grandma’s chipped blue mug sitting beside my laptop.
“Because my family thinks I sit in my bedroom drawing pictures all day.”
Rebecca was silent for a moment.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
She sighed.
“Well, he’s about to learn we’re not a family hobby.”
After we hung up, I opened the documents Daniel had sent. The first was a letter on Northline Design letterhead stating that our firm was ready to support Mercer Freight’s next expansion, with Dylan serving as the primary liaison for future commercial discussions.
My name sat beneath the final paragraph.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
