Chapter 4: The Man Who Came in My Name
The number on that page was $2.3 million.
I sat with it for a moment.
Grace didn't rush me.
"The building on Pratt Street," I finally said.
"My grandfather owned it outright?"
"Free and clear," Grace said.
"No liens, no encumbrances.
Your grandfather purchased it in 1987.
It has been leased to a commercial tenant continuously since 1994.
The lease generates approximately $11,000 per month."
Eleven thousand dollars a month.
For years.
And I had been working night shifts at a bakery.
"Why didn't my father know about the lease income?"
"The estate was structured with a trust.
Your grandfather designated you as the sole beneficiary, not your father.
He wanted it to pass directly to you when the title cleared probate.
The process took longer than expected due to a clerical issue with the county records." Grace paused.
"The letters we sent were to inform you that the title had finally cleared.
That the property was ready to transfer into your name."
"And instead," I said, "someone came in with a forged authorization and learned everything."
"Yes."
"Do you have a description of the man?"
Grace turned to her computer.
"We have him on our lobby security camera.
Standard procedure for all visitors." She pulled up the footage and turned the monitor toward me.
I recognized him immediately.
Not Brandon.
The man in the lobby footage was younger than Brandon.
Thinner.
He had a narrow face and wore a gray jacket.
I had seen him twice before — once at a barbecue at Brenda's house in Bethesda, and once dropping Brandon off outside our apartment building late on a Tuesday night.
"Do you know him?" Grace asked.
"His name is Derek," I said.
"He's Brandon's cousin."
Grace wrote it down without being asked.
"Ms.
Miller, I want to be direct with you.
What happened here — the forged authorization, the information gathering — this is not a civil matter.
This is part of a coordinated pattern.
Combined with what you've described about the apartment deed and the bank transfer, you are looking at multiple counts of fraud and forgery."
"I know," I said.
"I need an attorney."
"I can recommend someone," Grace said.
"Her name is Patricia Owens.
She handles exactly this kind of case.
She's aggressive, she's thorough, and she does not lose."
I took the card.
I called Patricia from the parking garage.
She picked up on the second ring.
I told her everything in eight minutes.
When I finished, she was quiet for exactly three seconds.
"Are you somewhere safe right now?"
"I'm at my parents'."
"Good.
Don't go back to that apartment.
Don't contact Brandon or Brenda directly.
Don't move any remaining assets.
I need you in my office tomorrow morning at nine."
"There are no remaining assets," I said.
"He took everything."
"He took what he could find," Patricia said.
"The Pratt Street property hasn't transferred yet.
It's still in probate.
Which means it's still yours, and he cannot touch it without going through the court.
That's your leverage, Chloe.
That's what he was working toward."
I leaned against the concrete wall of the parking garage.
"He was planning to forge the transfer," I said.
"That's why Derek came to the firm.
To get the valuation, the title details, everything he needed to make the forgery convincing."
"That's my read too," Patricia said.
"And the fact that he moved this fast — the apartment deed, the bank transfer, the estate inquiry all within the same three-week window — tells me he knew the property title was about to clear.
Someone tipped him off."
"Who would have known?"
"That's what we're going to find out," she said.
"Nine o'clock.
Don't be late."
I drove back to my parents' house.
My mother was home from the hospital, sitting in the kitchen with a blanket over her lap and a cup of tea going cold on the table.
She looked up when I came in.
"You found something," she said.
I sat down across from her.
"Mom, did Brandon ever ask you about Grandpa's estate?
About any property?"
Florence set her cup down slowly.
"Once," she said.
"About four months ago.
He asked me if your grandfather had left you anything besides the savings.
I told him I didn't know the details." She paused.
"He seemed disappointed."
May you like
Four months ago.
That was when the handwriting practice had started.
