Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO SIGNED MY LIFE AWAY
The next morning, I met Detective Cole at a downtown office while Amy stayed home with Frederick.
I had barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Amy sitting on that plastic stool.
Then I saw my mother’s name typed over mine on the deed.
Detective Cole was waiting with a thick file.
He was probably in his early forties.
Calm voice.
Gray suit.
The kind of man who seemed to become quieter when things became serious.
He slid a document across the table.
“This is the power of attorney.”
My signature was at the bottom.
It looked almost perfect.
Almost.
I immediately noticed the capital B in Bradley.
Mine curved inward.
This one curved outward.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Cole nodded.
“We’ve already requested the original.”
He placed another paper beside it.
“This notarization belongs to a woman named Cynthia Rowe.”
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“She says she didn’t notarize your signature.”
I looked up.
“Then who did?”
“That is what we’re trying to determine.”
He opened another folder.
“There’s more.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I could not imagine what “more” could possibly mean anymore.
Cole showed me a property transfer form.
It had been drafted but not filed.
The document would have transferred a fifty-one percent interest in my house to Teresa.
The stated consideration was ten dollars.
I stared at it.
“She was going to take half my house for ten dollars?”
“If she could create a believable legal chain.”
Cole pointed at another section.
“The power of attorney would have allowed her to sign certain documents on your behalf.”
My stomach turned.
“So this was planned.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I thought about the monthly transfers.
“Probably since Frederick was born.”
Cole’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Why do you say that?”
I explained the money.
The three thousand dollars each month.
The story about helping Amy.
The lie that had separated my wife and me without either of us realizing it.
Cole wrote everything down.
Then he asked, “Did your mother ever have access to your office?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
I thought.
Christmas.
Thanksgiving.
Two Sundays when she had watched Frederick while Amy and I went to dinner.
“She knew where I kept tax documents.”
“Passwords?”
“No.”
“Social Security number?”
“Probably.”
That answer made me feel foolish.
Of course she did.
She was my mother.
She had known my Social Security number since I was a child.
Cole leaned back.
“People often think identity crimes are committed by strangers.”
“They aren’t.”
“Family access can make them much easier.”
I looked at the transfer document again.
“What was Mason’s role?”
“We’re interviewing him.”
“Will he cooperate?”
Cole gave me a look I understood immediately.
“He’s scared.”
“Scared of jail?”
“Scared of your mother.”
That surprised me.
“Mason is thirty-two.”
“Fear doesn’t always care about age.”
Cole closed the file.
“He claims Teresa told him the documents proved the house was really hers.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree.”
“He also claims she told him you were mentally unstable and Amy was manipulating you.”
My jaw tightened.
“She’s been telling everyone that?”
“Apparently.”
I remembered the relatives standing in my backyard.
How easily they had accepted Amy serving them.
How naturally Betsy said Amy should earn her place.
The humiliation had not started that afternoon.
Teresa had prepared them.
She had created a story.
Connor was exhausted.
Amy was lazy.
Teresa was keeping the family together.
Therefore Teresa deserved authority.
It was a campaign.
Detective Cole stood.
“There’s one more thing you need to know.”
I remained seated.
“A loan application was submitted three weeks ago using your property as collateral.”
My heart stopped for a beat.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Did it go through?”
“Not yet.”
“Who applied?”
He looked directly at me.
“The applicant listed was you.”
I felt my hands curl into fists.
“And the contact number?”
Cole turned the page.
“It belongs to your mother.”
When I left the detective’s office, I did not go straight home.
I drove to the bank.
Then to my accountant.
Then to an attorney recommended by one of my coworkers.
Her name was Rachel Kim.
I handed her the folder and said, “I need to protect my wife and son.”
Rachel spent almost an hour reviewing everything.
Then she looked at me.
“Connor, protecting them is only half the job.”
“What’s the other half?”
“Finding out how much damage has already been done.”
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Amy.
I picked up immediately.
“What happened?”
Her breathing was fast.
“Connor, there’s someone outside.”
“Who?”
May you like
“I don’t know.”
“They’re taking pictures of the house.”
