“The notary is ready to identify the woman who appeared using your mother’s name.”
Michael’s voice came through my phone clearly enough to silence all three of us.
Daniel stood in the hallway outside my apartment, holding the forged loan application with both hands.
Jessica was beside him, but the confidence she had carried to my door was gone.
Her shoulders had tightened, and one side of her mouth twitched as though she were searching for a sentence that could put everything back where it had been ten minutes earlier.
Daniel looked at his wife.
“What notary?”
Jessica recovered just enough to roll her eyes.
“This is ridiculous.
Your mother is trying to frighten us.”
I kept the phone on speaker.
Michael did not raise his voice.
“The title company has a recorded identification number, security footage from the signing office, and a notarized quitclaim deed carrying Margaret Foster’s forged signature.
The lender has frozen the entire transaction and referred it to its fraud department.”
Daniel’s face lost what little color remained.
He looked down at the page again.
His name appeared beneath a statement claiming he had reviewed and approved the $180,000 home-equity application.
“This isn’t my signature,” he said.
Jessica crossed her arms.
“You told me to handle the financial side.”
“Handling the finances isn’t the same as signing my name.”
“You would have signed it eventually.”
The cruelty of that sentence was not in its volume.
She said it with impatience, as though Daniel’s consent were an administrative detail she had every right to complete for him.
I opened my apartment door fully.
“Come inside,” I said.
Jessica hesitated, but Daniel walked past me.
He sat at my small kitchen table, the same table Jessica had once described as cheap, and began reading every page in the file.
I put water on for tea because my hands needed something ordinary to do.
Michael remained on the phone while Daniel examined the loan documents.
The application listed the Maple Street property as collateral.
It claimed Daniel and Jessica owned the home without any outstanding mortgage.
It included inflated income figures, a fabricated property transfer, and an authorization for funds to be deposited into a business account Daniel had never seen.
The account belonged to a company called Bellamere House LLC.
Daniel frowned.
“What is Bellamere House?”
Jessica looked toward the window.
Michael answered.
“According to the state filing, it is a beauty and wellness company formed four months ago.
Jessica is the managing member.”
Daniel lifted his eyes.
“Four months?”
“The application says you are a co-owner,” Michael continued.
“But the formation documents do not list you.”
Jessica finally moved toward the table.
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
Daniel laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“A surprise that required forging my signature and stealing my mother’s house?”
“I wasn’t stealing anything.
The house was going to be yours eventually.”
I set three cups on the counter, then removed one.
Jessica had not come for tea.
“You believed Daniel owned it already,” I said.
She looked at me sharply.
“He should own it.
