Chapter 9: What Martin Said on the 27th
Martin Cho's office was on the fourth floor of a building in Dublin that smelled of woodwork and old carpet and the particular quiet of a place where serious things happen calmly.
He was a small, precise man in his sixties with wire-rimmed glasses and the habit of laying documents side by side on his desk so that he could refer to both at once without picking either up.
Ruth had told me he was good.
Within the first ten minutes I understood that *good* was a significant understatement.
He had done more in two days than I had expected of two weeks.
Jordan sat beside me.
He had been very quiet since Kayla left, not a broken quiet but a processing one — the silence of a man sorting through a great deal of material and deciding what to keep and what to set down.
Martin set the quitclaim deed and the deed of trust side by side on his desk.
"The quitclaim deed is fraudulent," he said.
"The notary — a Michael Greer, licensed in Franklin County — certified a signature that is demonstrably not yours on a date you were provably not in Franklin County.
I have spoken to a colleague in the county prosecutor's office.
They are interested."
"In Greer," I said.
"In Greer, and in whoever directed him.
His notary commission will be suspended pending review." Martin adjusted his glasses.
"On the civil side, I filed an emergency motion for a lis pendens on the property this morning.
That is a notice that the title is under dispute.
It prevents any further transfer, mortgage, or encumbrance of the property until the matter is resolved."
"So the deed of trust—"
"Is frozen.
Paulson Capital Group cannot enforce the loan or take any action against the property while the lis pendens is in place." He folded his hands.
"I also had a brief conversation with Derek Paulson's attorney this morning."
Jordan looked up.
"He called you?" I asked.
"I called him," Martin said.
"I wanted to know whether his client intended to contest." A small pause.
"He said his client needed time to review the matter."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that when I told him I had a recording of his client offering your son forty thousand dollars to release a fraudulently obtained deed, the conversation became quite short." Martin allowed himself what might have been a slight smile.
"Attorneys representing clients in indefensible positions tend to need a great deal of time to review matters."
"Will he fight it?"
"He may attempt to.
But the evidence is substantial.
The message thread, the recording, the alibi documentation, the prior civil judgments in other states — any reasonable attorney will advise his client that a contested hearing will make all of this public and the outcome is not in doubt."
I looked at the two documents on the desk.
My name on my original deed.
My name — the wrong version of my name — on the forgery.
"What happens to Kayla?" Jordan asked.
Martin looked at him carefully.
"That depends on what the prosecutor's office decides and what evidence they conclude is actionable.
The forgery is potentially a felony.
The conspiracy to defraud — the planned nature of the scheme as evidenced in the message thread — adds significant weight."
"She has a child," Jordan said.
"I know," Martin said.
He was quiet for a moment.
"That is not something I can factor into the legal analysis.
It will be a factor for the prosecutor.
These situations are rarely simple."
Jordan nodded.
"What do I do about Lily?" he asked.
Martin looked at him steadily.
"The paternity question is a separate matter.
If you wish to pursue it formally, I can refer you to a family law colleague.
The DNA sample you've provided has been submitted to the laboratory.
Results will take seven to ten business days."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, Lily's legal parentage is unchanged.
Whatever the result, that process takes time and requires its own filings."
Jordan looked at his hands.
"Mr.
Cho," he said.
"If she's not mine — biologically — does that change anything about what I'm responsible for?"
Martin considered the question with the care it deserved.
"Legally, if you are listed as the father on the birth certificate, there are processes for challenging that finding.
But I would encourage you not to make decisions about that child based on biology alone." He paused.
"You may find that you already know what you feel."
Jordan was quiet.
He did know.
I could see it in the way he had held Lily that morning before we left, standing in the hallway with her against his shoulder, her dark hair against his cheek, neither of them in any hurry to let go.
After the meeting Martin walked us to the elevator.
"Elaine," he said at the door.
"I want you to know something.
In forty years of practice I have seen families in situations similar to this one.
The property matters, and we will protect it.
But I have found that the families who come through these things are the ones that find a way to be honest with each other before the legal process forces it on them." He looked at Jordan.
"It seems like you've already begun."
The elevator opened.
We rode down in silence.
In the parking lot, Jordan unlocked the car and then stood beside it for a moment, looking up at the gray December sky.
"Mom," he said.
"Yes."
"When all of this is done.
When the legal part is over and the dust settles." He looked at me.
"Can I still come home for Christmas?"
I looked at my son.
He had my husband's jaw and his father's particular way of standing — slightly turned to one side, as if always half-expecting to need to move quickly.
"Jordan," I said.
"This is your home.
It has always been your home.
The only person who was ever trying to take it away was never either of us."
He nodded.
He got in the car.
I got in and pulled my seatbelt across and looked through the windshield at the parking lot, the gray sky, the bare trees along the edge of the building.
May you like
"Drive," I said.
He drove.
