The Retribution of Evelyn Vale and the Fall of Hartwell House
“The registration you filed is a lie,” I said, taking a step closer to the desk.
“I never signed those transfer papers.”
Vivian set her teacup down on the saucer with a loud, deliberate clatter.
“It does not matter what you remember, Evelyn,” she said.
Her voice was smooth, like ice over a pond.
“The signature on the document is yours, and it was witnessed and notarized.”
“I was in a hospital bed,” I said.
“I was recovering from an emergency C-section, and I was heavily medicated on painkillers.”
“You were uncooperative,” Vivian said, leaning back in her velvet chair.
“You were letting your emotions ruin a multi-million-dollar expansion.”
“So you decided to help me?” I asked.
Carter looked toward the door, then back at me.
“It was a business necessity, Evelyn,” he said.
“You were not in your right mind, and we had a deadline with the European investors.”
“You forged my signature while I was unconscious,” I said, looking directly into Vivian’s cold gray eyes.
“Let us be precise,” Vivian said, adjusting the heavy gold bracelet on her wrist.
“Carter signed your name.”