“The ink density is consistent throughout the entire name,” he said.

He looked at me with a grim nod.

“Ava, this signature was not written by a dying woman.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Are you saying it’s a forgery?”

“It is a highly skilled copy,” Arthur said.

“But look at the date.”

I looked at the bottom of the page.

The date was marked as October 14th.

“That was the day she was admitted to the intensive care unit,” I whispered.

“She was heavily sedated.”

“Exactly,” Arthur said.

“And there is another detail.”

He turned the page over to show the notary’s stamp.

“The notary who authorized this signature is someone you know very well,” he said.

I looked at the printed name next to the gold seal.

The room seemed to tilt slightly.

“It can’t be,” I said.

“It is,” Arthur said.

Before I could speak, my phone began to vibrate violently on the table.

The screen showed an incoming call from an unknown number.

Then, a text message popped up right behind it.

It was a photo of my dorm room door.