Chapter 4: What Brandon Did With Thomas's Name
Lawson spread the documents across the small table in the hospital family room the following morning.
Six pages.
Two sets of signatures.
One notary stamp that he circled in red pen without saying a word.
"The notary," he said finally.
"Do you recognize this name?"
I looked.
Gerald Fitch.
Notary Public, Travis County.
"No."
"I do." Lawson sat back.
"Gerald Fitch lost his notary commission eighteen months ago.
Fraud-related.
He was involved in three other property cases before the state caught up with him." He tapped the stamp.
"This seal was used after his commission was already revoked.
Which means this document is not only fraudulent — it was executed by someone who knew exactly what they were doing."
I looked at the signature above Emily's.
Thomas R.
Collins.
My husband had been gone for seven years.
"He used Thomas's name," I said.
"Yes."
"To transfer Thomas's land."
"Yes."
I stood up and walked to the window.
The parking lot below was ordinary — cars, a woman pushing a stroller, a man talking on his phone.
Everything outside looked like a normal Tuesday.
"How much is the ranch worth?" I asked.
"At current market value, with the water rights and the acreage — somewhere between two point three and two point eight million."
I turned around.
"And Brandon has been in control of it for six years."
"Collecting lease income from the grazing rights.
Three neighboring operations pay quarterly." Lawson folded his hands.
"Margaret, I need to ask you something directly.
In the past six years, have you received any income from the ranch?
Any correspondence about the property?"
"Nothing.
I assumed it was sitting idle.
I trusted him."
Lawson nodded slowly.
He didn't say what we were both thinking.
He didn't need to.
My phone rang.
Not Brandon this time.
A number I didn't recognize.
I answered.
"Mrs.
Collins?" A woman's voice.
Careful, professional.
"My name is Grace Tillman.
I'm a detective with the Austin PD financial crimes unit.
I understand you may have information relevant to an ongoing investigation."
I looked at Lawson.
He had gone very still.
"What investigation?" I asked.
"Brandon Collins.
We've had a file open on him for eleven months.
We've been waiting for someone with standing to come forward." A brief pause.
"Mrs.
Collins, you are the rightful owner of the Collins ranch.
That gives you standing.
We'd like to meet with you today if possible."
I sat back down at the table.
"What time?" I said.
---
Brandon arrived at the hospital at noon.
I knew because the front desk called to warn me — he had told them he was my son and demanded Emily's room number.
They hadn't given it to him, but he was in the lobby.
I went down alone.
Lawson offered to come.
I told him to stay with Emily.
Brandon was standing near the entrance, still in the expensive clothes, still wearing the watch.
When he saw me cross the lobby, something moved behind his eyes — not guilt.
Calculation.
"Mom." He spread his hands slightly.
"Let's talk like adults."
"We are talking."
"Not here." He glanced at the front desk.
"Come outside."
"Say what you came to say, Brandon."
His jaw tightened.
"You're making a mistake.
You don't understand the full picture."
"Then explain it to me."
"The ranch was bleeding money.
After Dad died, the taxes alone were going to swallow it.
I saved it.
I kept it running.
Everything I did, I did to protect the family asset."
"By forging your father's signature."
He didn't flinch.
"I had power of attorney."
"Your power of attorney expired fourteen months after Thomas died.
The transfer happened four years after that."
The calculation behind his eyes sharpened.
"Emily signed willingly," he said.
"Emily signed because she was twenty-three and terrified of you."
"That's her version."
"It's also Roy Hatch's version.
And Dr.
Parker's version.
And the version currently sitting in a file at the Austin PD." I watched his face.
"They called me this morning, Brandon."
The watch caught the light as his hand dropped to his side.
"You went to the police."
"They came to me."
He was quiet for a long moment.
When he spoke again, his voice had changed — lower, stripped of the performance.
"If this goes forward, it won't just be me.
Emily's name is on those documents.
She could be charged as a co-signer."
"Emily is a victim.
Her attorney will make that clear."
"Her attorney." He almost laughed.
"Since when does Emily have an attorney?"
"Since yesterday."
He looked at me the way a man looks at a door he thought was open and has just found locked.
"Mom.
Think about what you're doing to this family."
I looked at him for a moment.
At the watch.
At the shirt.
At the face I had fed and held and driven to school and worried over for thirty-four years.
"I am," I said.
"For the first time in a long time, I am thinking about exactly that."
May you like
I turned and walked back to the elevator.
He didn't follow.
