Chapter 6: The Notary at My Thanksgiving Table
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
“Are you certain?”” I finally asked.
Daniel Brooks answered carefully.
“I'm reading directly from the document. Patricia Collins is listed as the notary public.””
I lowered myself into the nearest chair.
Patricia.
Harper's mother.
The woman who had stood in my kitchen telling me to calm down while her daughter screamed at me.
The woman who had complimented my Thanksgiving turkey.
The woman who had asked me where David kept his old photographs.
I gripped the edge of the chair.
“Mr. Brooks, I did not sign that document in front of Patricia.””
“I understand. We will need to investigate the discrepancy.””
“Can you send a copy to my attorney?””
“Yes. With your authorization, I'll provide the application records to Ms. Collins.””
“Please do.””
After the call ended, I immediately contacted Margaret.
She didn't sound surprised.
“Eleanor, I suspected the signature might have been supported by a questionable certification. Send me the loan officer's contact information.””
I forwarded it.
“Margaret, can someone notarize a document without the person appearing before them?””
“Not lawfully under the circumstances you've described. But I don't want to speculate about what happened until we have the original records.””
“Patricia was in my house on Thanksgiving.””
“I remember you mentioning that.””
“She had access to my belongings. She could have seen old documents.””
Margaret paused.
“Did she ever handle your financial paperwork?””
I thought back.
One afternoon in November, Patricia had asked me to show her where I kept the old family photographs.
She had wandered through the hallway while I was upstairs looking for an album.
At the time, I hadn't thought anything of it.
But David's study had been open.
And the cabinet containing some of our older documents was inside.
“Margaret, I think she may have been in David's study.””
“Don't touch anything there until we understand what may have been accessed. I'll send someone to document the relevant records if necessary.””
That afternoon, I changed the locks on the filing cabinet.
I also moved my original deed, will, financial statements, and identification documents to a secure location.
At five, Harper arrived.
She didn't knock.
She used the key Liam had given her and walked straight into my kitchen.
“Where is Liam?””
I was standing at the sink washing a coffee cup.
“I don't know.””
“He said he came here.””
“He did.””
“Why did you talk to him without me?””
I dried my hands.
“Because he's my son.””
Harper dropped her purse onto the counter.
“Whatever you told him, stop. He's already stressed enough.””
I looked at her.
“Your father has been contacting a lender using my property information.””
Her expression remained blank.
“That's between him and Liam.””
“Your mother is listed as the notary on a personal guarantee bearing my name.””
That got her attention.
Her lips parted slightly.
Then she recovered.
“You're making accusations you can't prove.””
“My attorney has the document.””
“Maybe you signed it and forgot.””
I stared at her.
“You think I would forget signing a guarantee that could put my house at risk?””
Harper shrugged.
“You're almost seventy. People forget things.””
The words hit harder than I expected.
Not because they were clever.
Because she had deliberately chosen the one thing she thought would make me doubt myself.
I put the coffee cup down.
“Get out of my kitchen.””
She laughed.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
“I'm married to your son.””
“And I'm the owner of this house.””
Harper stepped closer.
“You keep saying that like it's some kind of weapon.””
“No. It's a fact.””
She leaned against the counter.
“Do you know what Richard has done for Liam? He found the property. He negotiated the price.
He arranged the financing. He introduced us to people who could help us.””
“Then he should have built the business without using my identity.””
“He was trying to help!””
“By pretending I signed a legal guarantee?””
Harper's face tightened.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.””
“Then explain why your mother certified my signature.””
She looked away.
That small movement told me everything.
I walked toward the drawer and removed the copy of the guarantee Margaret had sent me.
Harper glanced at it.
Then she snatched it from my hand.
“Where did you get this?””
“From the lender.””
She scanned the document.
Her fingers began trembling.
I noticed something at the bottom.
A date.
The document had supposedly been signed on November 18.
I remembered that date.
It was the afternoon Patricia had visited with Harper.
I had been in the backyard trimming the rose bushes when they arrived.
Harper had said they wanted to surprise me with lunch.
They brought a box of pastries and a bottle of sparkling cider.
I had gone upstairs to change because I had dirt on my sleeves.
My handbag had been sitting on the kitchen chair.
My wallet had been inside it.
And my old identification card had been in the wallet.
I looked at Harper.
“Were you here on November 18?””
She swallowed.
“Of course. I live here.””
“Did your mother enter David's study?””
“I don't know.””
“Did either of you take anything from my handbag?””
Her eyes flashed.
“That's an insane accusation!””
“Answer me.””
“No!””
I watched her carefully.
Then I asked the question that made her step backward.
“Why is there a copy of my driver's license attached to a document I never signed?””
Harper stared at me.
Her mouth opened.
No words came out.
Before she could respond, the front door opened.
Richard walked into the house.
He was carrying a leather briefcase and wearing the same expensive gray coat he had worn on Thanksgiving.
“Eleanor,” he said pleasantly.
“I think we need to have a conversation.””
I looked at him.
“About my signature?””
His expression barely changed.
“About a misunderstanding.””
“You submitted a personal guarantee using my name.””
He placed his briefcase on the counter.
“Let's not use dramatic language.””
“Then explain the document.””
Richard sighed as though I were an unreasonable child.
“Liam needed help. You have substantial assets sitting idle. We were trying to create an opportunity that would benefit the entire family.””
“My assets are not your opportunity.””
He smiled.
“That's an emotional response. Business requires a more practical approach.””
I stared at him.
“Did you use my identification without permission?””
Richard opened his briefcase.
“Before we go any further, I want you to read something.””
He removed a folder and slid it toward me.
Inside was a printed agreement bearing my name.
I recognized the address immediately.
My house.
But this time, the document wasn't a loan guarantee.
It was an agreement concerning the future transfer of my property.
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
My hands began to shake.
The document claimed that I had agreed to transfer ownership of my home to Liam and Harper under certain conditions.
At the bottom was a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
I looked up.
“What is this?””
Richard closed his briefcase.
“An agreement your son believed you would eventually sign.””
“I never agreed to this.””
He leaned forward.
“Perhaps you should consider what happens if the lender believes otherwise.””
I stared at him.
Then I noticed the final page.
There was a witness signature.
And beneath it, in neat handwriting, was a name I recognized immediately.
Liam Powell.
My own son had signed as a witness to an agreement transferring my house.
And the date printed at the top was three days before Thanksgiving.
I looked toward Harper.
She was no longer pretending to be confused.
She was watching me, waiting for my reaction.
Richard straightened his coat.
“Now, Eleanor, let's discuss how we can settle this quietly.””
I slowly closed the folder.
Then I reached for my phone.
“I'm afraid you're a little late for that, Richard.””
He frowned.
“Why?””
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Because my attorney already has a copy.””
My phone vibrated.
A message from Margaret appeared.
Eleanor, do not let Richard leave with any original documents. We have identified another person connected to this transaction. You need to see what I just received.
I opened the attachment.
It was a photograph of a bank transfer authorization.
The amount was $68,000.
The recipient was Richard Collins.
But the account number belonged to an entirely different bank.
And the transfer date was scheduled for the following morning.
I looked up at Richard.
“What's the sixty-eight-thousand-dollar payment for?””
For the first time, his confident expression disappeared.
Harper turned toward him.
“Dad?””
He snapped the folder shut.
“That's none of her business.””
I stood still.
May you like
Then he said something that made Harper's face turn completely white.
“Because if she finds out where that money came from, all three of you are going to have a much bigger problem than a house.””
