The signature at the bottom belonged to a woman.
Ortiz read the name twice.
Claire Morgan.
When Ortiz showed the document to Dana, she was standing near the framed photograph of the original Haven House volunteers.
"Claire?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Thomas Mercer's daughter?"
"That's what the document suggests."
Dana looked at the signature.
"But she rejected him. She wanted nothing to do with his operation."
"I know."
"Then why is her name here?"
"That's what we need to establish."
Dana sat down.
"Could someone have forged it?"
"Possibly."
"Could she have been forced?"
"Possibly."
He closed the folder.
"We cannot assume anything until we speak to her."
Claire Morgan had been living under her own name for several years. She had built a quiet life, worked in an accounting office, and avoided publicity whenever possible.
Ortiz contacted her through her attorney.
Her response came two days later.
She agreed to meet.
But she set one condition.
She would not meet alone.
Claire arrived with a lawyer and a woman who introduced herself as her close friend.
She looked exhausted.
"I know why you're here," she said.
Ortiz placed the document on the table.
"Do you recognize this signature?"
Claire examined it.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she nodded.
"It's mine."
Dana, who had joined the meeting at Claire's request, watched her carefully.
"Did you authorize this transfer?"
"No."
"Do you know what it was for?"
Claire shook her head.
"I have never seen this account before."
Ortiz studied her expression.
"Could someone have obtained your signature from another document?"
"Yes. My father used to keep copies of everything. My tax forms, identification records, old employment documents. He had access to my signature."
"Did he ever use your identity without your permission?"
Claire's jaw tightened.
"He used everything he could get his hands on."
She looked at the document again.
"When I was younger, he told me that family members had responsibilities. He said I had inherited certain obligations whether I wanted them or not."
"What did you do?"
"I left."
"Did you know about the properties?"
"No."
"Did you know about Rebecca Ellis?"
Claire looked up sharply.
"Rebecca?"
"Do you know her?"
Claire's expression changed.
"I remember the name."
"How?"
She took a slow breath.
"When I was seventeen, I found a list of women in my father's office. I didn't understand what it meant. I saw names, dates, and addresses. One of the names was Rebecca Ellis."
Ortiz leaned forward.
"Did you keep the list?"
"No. My father found me looking at it."
"What happened?"
"He took it away. Then he told me that if I ever repeated what I'd seen, people would get hurt."
Claire's hands began to tremble.
"I thought he was threatening me. I didn't understand that he might already have been hurting them."
Dana reached for a glass of water and placed it near her.
Claire accepted it.
"I've spent years trying to convince myself that I escaped before I became involved."
Ortiz spoke carefully.
"Your name appearing on a document does not establish that you knowingly participated. We need to understand how it was used."
Claire looked at him.
"Then I'll help you."
Her attorney turned toward her.
"Claire, we should discuss—"
"No," she said quietly. "I've spent enough time protecting myself by pretending I know nothing."
She returned her attention to Ortiz.
"I have something else."
She reached into her bag and removed a small key.
"My father gave me this when I was eighteen. He said it opened a storage cabinet that belonged to my grandfather. I never used it."
"Where is the cabinet?"
"In a private storage facility outside the city."
Ortiz took a photograph of the key.
"Do you know what's inside?"
Claire shook her head.
"No. But I think it's time someone found out."
The storage facility was an old industrial complex with rows of metal doors and a security office near the entrance.
Claire accompanied the investigators.
She walked slowly down the corridor, stopping at the last unit on the right.
The lock was old.
The key turned with difficulty.
When the door rolled upward, a smell of dust and stale paper drifted into the hallway.
Inside were several filing cabinets, a wooden desk, and a collection of cardboard boxes.
There was no furniture beyond that.
No personal belongings.
No sign that anyone had used the space recently.
Ortiz entered first.
He opened the nearest cabinet.
Inside were folders labeled by year.
The oldest records dated back more than forty years.
The newest were from only a few months before Thomas Mercer's arrest.
One folder contained a list of properties.
Another contained names.
A third contained photographs.
Claire stood at the entrance.
"I didn't know this existed."
Ortiz nodded.
"I believe you."
At the back of the room, an investigator found a small safe.
The key did not fit.
They arranged for a locksmith to open it under proper evidence procedures.
Inside were three items.