Chapter 6 - The Signature StampThe stamp looked almost childish.
A small rectangular office tool.
Black handle.
Conrad’s signature reproduced in blue ink.
He stared at the photograph until Thomas said:
“Conrad.”
“That’s mine.”
“Did you authorize a stamp?”
“For routine company correspondence years ago.”
“Who had it?”
“My executive assistant.”
“Where was it stored?”
“At the house during Allison’s illness. I signed estate papers from home.”
Thomas sat back.
“Maureen could have accessed it.”
Conrad laughed bitterly.
“Apparently Maureen could access everything.”
He drove home with Thomas following.
Police were still there.
Detective Lena Ortiz from Reno Police had taken over the case.
She was calm in a way Conrad found both reassuring and infuriating.
“We are separating the child-abuse investigation from potential financial offenses,” she explained.
“Why?”
“Different evidence, possibly different units. But they can overlap.”
Conrad pointed toward Maureen’s open bedroom door.
“She forged my signature.”
“Possibly.”
“That is my signature stamp.”
“Good. That helps us establish method.”
“You say everything like it’s a spreadsheet.”
Ortiz looked at him.
“Because if I get angry instead of precise, people walk.”
Conrad stopped.
Fair.
Inside Maureen’s locked drawer were forty-seven blank invoice templates.
High Desert Family Support.
A duplicate signature stamp.
Old copies of Allison’s temporary guardian nomination.
The revoked version was not there.
A flash drive.
And a spiral notebook.
The notebook frightened Conrad most.
Dates.
Short descriptions.
W cried at dinner — recorded.
Refused schoolwork — recorded.
Tantrum after phone removal — send Dr. L.
C gone 4 nights. Good window.
Conrad stared.
“C.”
Him.
Detective Ortiz turned pages.
Another note:
Need stronger fear statements before petition.
Another:
If C questions, remind him A wanted MK.
Allison wanted Maureen.
The lie Maureen had built her authority around.
Marisol stood in the doorway.
“She used to write after Wren went to bed.”
Conrad looked at her.
“Did you know what this was?”
“No.”
“Did you see the stamp?”
“Never.”
Ortiz bagged the notebook.
“What about the flash drive?” Conrad asked.
“We’ll image it.”
“How long?”
“As long as necessary.”
He hated the answer.
Wren was downstairs with a victim advocate and Marisol.
Conrad went to her.
She sat at the kitchen island drawing circles on paper.
Not pictures.
Just circles.
He sat beside her.
“Do you know what High Desert is?”
She looked up.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
He immediately regretted asking.
She was eight.
Not an accountant.
“Did Maureen ever take you somewhere for lessons or therapy besides Dr. Lang?”
“No.”
Dr. Naomi Lang.
The “lady on the computer.”
“Did anybody named High Desert come here?”
Wren shook her head.
“Did Maureen ever tell you she paid people to help you?”
“She said I cost a lot.”
Conrad felt sick.
“What did she say?”
“That I had special problems.”
“You don’t.”
“She said you spent more on me because I’m difficult.”
Conrad closed his eyes.
“She lied.”
Wren looked uncertain.
“What if I am difficult?”
He leaned closer.
“Difficult is not a reason for anyone to hurt you.”
The child considered that.
Then asked:
“Are you firing her?”
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
“Yes.”
Relief crossed her face.
Then fear.
“What if the paper says she comes back?”
“No paper can make me leave you alone with her again.”
Wren whispered:
“She said judges can.”
Conrad went still.
Maureen had prepared her psychologically for a legal fight.
“What exactly did she tell you about judges?”
“That they listen to grown-ups.”
“Sometimes.”
“Not kids.”
“That part is wrong.”
“She said kids get confused.”
Conrad stared.
Again.
A phrase designed to discredit Wren before she spoke.
“What did she tell Dr. Lang?”
Wren’s eyes dropped.
“That you yell.”
“Do I?”
“Sometimes.”
Truth.
He had yelled before.
Not at her often.
But enough that he would not deny reality.
“What else?”
“That you leave me alone.”
“I leave you with staff.”
“She said that means alone.”
Conrad felt shame.
Not because Maureen was right.
Because she had taken one real vulnerability and sharpened it into a weapon.
“How many times did you talk to Dr. Lang?”
“Four?”
“Was Maureen there?”
“Behind the computer.”
“She could hear?”
Wren nodded.
“She tapped the desk if I said the wrong thing.”
Conrad’s jaw tightened.
“What was the wrong thing?”
“That I miss you.”
He closed his eyes.
By evening, Detective Ortiz called.
They had opened the flash drive.
It contained edited videos of Wren.
Crying.
Screaming.
Throwing a pillow.
Saying:
“I don’t want Dad.”
“I want to leave.”
“I’m scared when he comes home angry.”
No context.
No Maureen.
No coaching.
Only a child presented as unstable and afraid of her father.
Then Ortiz showed Conrad the final folder.
COURT EVIDENCE
Inside:
A completed temporary guardianship petition.
Therapist notes.
Financial records.
Travel calendars showing Conrad away.
And a proposed placement agreement with a private residential program in Utah.
Admission date:
Six weeks from now.
Conrad checked his own calendar.
On that exact date, he was scheduled to leave Nevada for a ten-day company trip to Singapore.
May you like
Maureen had not been preparing for some vague future.
She had chosen the week Conrad would be on the other side of the world.
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