Chapter 3: The Signature That Wasn’t Mine
I walked toward the front door.
My son stepped in front of me and planted one hand against it.
“Move,” I said.
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“I understand that someone believes my house is for sale.”
His wife came up behind us.
“Let her open it.”
The bell rang again.
“Daniel Hart?” a man called through the door.
“It’s Martin Reeves.
I have Mrs.
Grant with me.”
My son’s wife stared at him.
“Daniel, who is Mrs.
Grant?”
“The buyer,” he whispered.
I moved his hand and opened the door.
A silver-haired man stood on the porch holding a leather folder.
Beside him was a woman in a navy coat, her expression already uneasy.
“Are you Daniel’s mother?” the man asked.
“I am.
And I own this house.”
Mrs.
Grant turned sharply toward him.
“You told me Daniel had authority to negotiate.”
“He provided documentation,” Mr.
Reeves said.
“Daniel, perhaps you should explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” my son said.
“My mother agreed to transfer the property.”
“I brought an unsigned transfer document tonight.”
Mr.
Reeves opened his folder.
“Then what is this?”
He placed a photocopy on the hall table.
It was a power of attorney bearing my printed name, an elaborate signature, and a notary seal.
His wife covered her mouth.
“Daniel…”
I picked up the page.
“That isn’t my signature.”
Mrs.
Grant stepped backward.
“I gave your son a deposit.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
My son reached for the folder.
“This meeting is over.”
Mr.
Reeves pulled it away.
“No, it isn’t.
Where did the document come from?”
“My mother signed it months ago.”
“I did not.”
“You forget things,” my son said.
“You’ve been forgetting things for a while.”
I looked directly at him.
“Tell me one thing I have forgotten.”
“You called me twice about the same appointment.”
“You changed the time after the first call.”
“You left your purse in my car.”
“You drove away while I was helping your daughter with her seat belt.”
His wife’s hand dropped from her mouth.
“You made it sound much worse than that.”
“Stay out of this, Claire.”
She flinched at the sharpness in his voice.
Mr.
Reeves placed the folder under his arm.
“I need to call my office.”
“No calls,” Daniel said.
“We can correct the paperwork tomorrow.”
“You accepted money from my client.”
“It’s in escrow.”
Mrs.
Grant pulled out her phone.
“Then show me the receipt.”
Daniel’s eyes moved toward the kitchen.
I followed his gaze.
His phone was still on the dining table.
He lunged past me.
Claire caught his sleeve.
“What are you trying to delete?”
“Let go of me.”
He shook free and reached the table, but Mr.
Reeves was closer to the phone.
He picked it up and handed it to me.
A new message glowed on the screen.
Did she sign?
The filing goes through at nine tomorrow.
“Who sent that?” I asked.
Daniel held out his hand.
“Give me my phone.”
“Who is ‘V’?”
“You’re reading private messages.”
“You forged my signature.”
“You were going to give me the house anyway!”
The children appeared at the top of the staircase.
My granddaughter gripped the railing while her younger brother hid behind her.
“Daddy?” she called.
“Why are you shouting at Grandma?”
Daniel’s shoulders dropped.
“Go back to your rooms.”
I handed the children to Claire with my eyes.
“Please take them upstairs.”
Claire did not move.
Mr.
Reeves’s phone rang.
He answered, listened, and looked at me.
“That was my office,” he said.
“There is another filing attached to this property.”
“What kind of filing?”
May you like
He slowly closed the folder.
“An emergency petition claiming you are no longer capable of managing your own affairs.”
