The name meant nothing to me.
But Julian worked in property consulting.
He opened small entities for specific projects all the time.
Or at least I thought they were all legitimate projects.
“Did you sign anything?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have copies?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
She opened an email attachment.
I didn’t understand every line.
But I recognized Julian’s company address.
I also recognized something else.
A mailing address near our home.
Not our house.
A private mailbox store less than two miles away.
“When did you invest?”
“Six weeks ago.”
My mind immediately went backward.
Six weeks ago, Julian had suddenly become interested in whether I planned to keep my grandmother’s investment account separate.
At the time, he said he was asking because our financial adviser wanted updated records.
I had thought nothing of it.
Now I wasn’t sure.
I looked at Sabrina.
“Has he ever asked you to sign anything related to the Savannah house?”
“No.”
“Has he ever shown you documents with my name?”
She paused.
“Yes.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What documents?”
Sabrina opened another folder on her phone.
“He showed me this.”
It was a PDF.
At the top were the words Final Judgment and Decree.
Beneath that were our names.
Julian Arden.
Camille Arden.
My vision blurred for half a second.
I scrolled.
The document stated that our marriage had been dissolved in Chatham County.
It contained property language.
It contained supposed agreements.
It even contained my signature.
I looked at Sabrina.
“This is fake.”
“I understand that.”
“No.”
I zoomed in.
“This signature is not mine.”
Sabrina looked pale.
“He sent this to me when I asked why there weren’t any divorce records online.”
“You searched?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not completely stupid.”
I looked at her.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I couldn’t find anything. Julian said Georgia cases sometimes take time to appear in online systems, then he sent me that.”
My eyes returned to the signature.
It looked like mine.
Not exactly.
But close enough to fool someone who had only seen my name written a few times.
I had a sudden memory.
Three months earlier, Julian had asked me to sign a stack of holiday cards for clients because he said my handwriting looked better.
I had laughed.
There had been almost fifty cards.
Camille Arden.
Camille Arden.
Camille Arden.
Again and again.
My stomach turned.
I forwarded the PDF to myself.
