Chapter 8: The Hearing
The courtroom was small and very quiet.
Judge Anne Mercer had the kind of stillness that made the room feel like it was paying attention to her rather than the other way around.
She read the motion filing without expression.
She read the forensic report.
She read Patricia Holt's written statement.
She set each document down in a neat stack to her left.
Then she looked up.
"Counsel for the respondent," she said.
"Is there any dispute that the signature on this transfer document was not executed by the named grantor?"
Lorraine's attorney — a man named Fitch who had arrived looking confident and left looking considerably less so — cleared his throat.
"Your Honor, my client maintains that the document was properly—"
"I'm asking about the signature," Judge Mercer said.
"Is it disputed?"
A pause.
"We would request time to retain our own examiner—"
"You've had three weeks since the document was filed.
The motion before me is an emergency stay and a fraud referral." She set her pen down.
"I'm granting both."
Lorraine was seated two rows behind her attorney.
I hadn't looked at her directly since I'd walked in.
But I looked at her now.
She was wearing a gray blazer.
Her hands were folded in her lap.
Her face was composed in the way of someone who has spent a lifetime composing it under pressure.
But her jaw was tight.
And she was not looking at the judge.
She was looking at Daniel.
Daniel was not looking back.
"The transfer deed recorded three weeks ago is hereby stayed pending full fraud investigation," Judge Mercer said.
"The property at Unit 12B reverts to its pre-transfer ownership effective immediately.
The county recorder's office will be notified this afternoon." She turned a page.
"I'm also referring the notarial conduct of Gerald Pitts to the state licensing board and forwarding the matter to the district attorney's office for review of potential criminal charges."
Fitch stood.
"Your Honor, my client is a seventy-one-year-old woman who—"
"Who is alleged to have orchestrated a deed fraud using a notary with a prior complaint history and a witness with a prior conviction for document falsification," Judge Mercer said.
She was not unkind.
She was simply precise.
"Age is not a defense to fraud, counsel.
Sit down."
He sat.
The hearing was over in twenty-two minutes.
In the hallway outside, Ruth shook my hand and then pulled me into a brief, firm hug.
"It's done," she said.
"The stay is in place.
You can go home today."
I nodded.
I felt something loosen in my chest that had been pulled tight for days.
Then I heard Lorraine's voice behind me.
"Claire."
I turned.
She was standing alone.
Fitch had already moved away to take a phone call.
Daniel was at the far end of the hallway, his back to both of us, his hands in his pockets.
Lorraine looked at me for a long moment.
"I did what any mother would do," she said.
"I was protecting my son's future."
"From me," I said.
"From uncertainty." Her chin lifted slightly.
"You were never going to be enough for him.
I saw that from the beginning."
I looked at her.
This woman who had taken down my family photos.
Who had drunk from my grandmother's mug.
Who had spent eleven months building a legal structure designed to erase me from my own life.
"Lorraine," I said.
"You're going to face a criminal investigation.
You may lose your notary friend's license and your witness's freedom along with your own.
And your son is standing at the end of that hallway and he hasn't looked at you once since we walked out of that room."
Her chin stayed up.
But something flickered behind her eyes.
"I want my grandmother's mug back," I said.
"Today."
I turned and walked toward Ruth.
Behind me, I heard nothing.
May you like
Not a word.
That was the loudest thing Lorraine Marsh had ever said to me.
