We went up. Every step sounded like a hammer blow.
The boardroom had wood-paneled walls, a long table, and the smell of expensive stationery. There was my father, still in his tuxedo from the party, his tie loosened and his face flushed with impatience. Celia was at his side. And sitting across from the notary was a girl with my hair color, roughly my age, and a fake ID with my name.
It wasn’t Lily. It was Renata, Celia’s cousin. I recognized her because she had come to a family dinner once, and Celia had remarked that she was “very clever with paperwork.”
Very clever. Clever enough to pretend to be me.
When I walked in, my father froze. The “fake Dianne” dropped the pen. Celia stood up. “What are you doing here?”
I looked at the notary. “I am Dianne Reed. The real one.”
The notary, a woman with thin glasses and a steady voice, didn’t seem surprised. She simply closed the folder in front of Renata. “That clears up several doubts.”
My father tried to regain control. “My daughter is upset. She failed her exams, ran away from home, and now she’s trying to cause a scene.”
I pulled out my real ID. Then my birth certificate. Then the will. Mr. Santos placed the originals on the table.
“And here is her actual test result,” Aunt Susan said, pulling out a copy. “98.7 percentile.”
My father looked at me. Not with pride. With fury. Because he realized I had lied first. Not out of weakness—out of strategy.
“You set a trap for me,” he said.
I felt a laugh bubble up in my throat. “No, Dad. I only told you I failed. You did the rest.”
Celia slammed her hand on the table. “That house should serve the family!” “It was my mother’s.” “Your mother was Arthur’s wife!” “And that’s exactly why she protected it from him.”
The notary looked at Renata. “Miss, I need you to identify yourself with your real name.” Renata started to cry. “Celia told me it was just a signature. That Dianne was okay with it.” “Shut up!” Celia barked.
Too late. Mr. Santos raised a hand. “Identity theft in notarized acts is a felony. The National Notary Association and state law take this very seriously to protect the legal certainty of families.”
My father took a step toward me. “Dianne, let’s go. We can settle this at home.”
The word home made me nauseous. “What home? Yours, where you kicked me out? Or mine, which you tried to sell using a cheap copy of my face?”
His hand went up. It didn’t touch me. Aunt Susan stepped between us. “Don’t even think about it.”
The notary pressed a button on her desk phone. “Security, please come to the boardroom and notify the authorities.”
Celia began to cry then. Not softly. Not with regret. With the rage of a woman who had been caught. “This is all your mother’s fault! Always playing the saint. Always leaving paper trails. Always thinking you were special.”
