Chapter 9: The Signature That Was Never His
Rebecca called a forensic document examiner that same afternoon.
His name was Paul Garrett.
He had testified in county court fourteen times.
He arrived at Rebecca's office the following morning with a portable scanner and a case that looked like it belonged to a photographer.
He examined the lien filing for forty minutes without saying anything.
Then he looked up.
"The pen pressure is inconsistent with a natural signature," he said.
"Whoever signed this was copying a model.
Probably from another document."
"The mortgage refinancing," I said.
He nodded.
"That would be my first guess.
Can you get me a copy of the original?"
I called the mortgage company that afternoon.
The documents arrived by secure email within two hours.
Garrett compared them side by side.
"Same letter formation," he said.
"Same baseline angle.
Different pen pressure throughout." He pointed to two lines on his screen.
"This was traced.
Not forged freehand.
Traced."
Rebecca was already on the phone with her contact at the county recorder's office before he finished the sentence.
I drove back to the house that evening to get clothes and check on the kids.
Kendra was in the living room when I walked in.
She looked at me and then at the bag in my hand.
"You're staying somewhere else," she said.
"For now."
She nodded.
She looked like she hadn't slept.
I went upstairs.
I spent an hour with Cody, who wanted to show me a video game he'd been playing and didn't ask any difficult questions.
He just wanted me next to him on the couch, which was the easiest thing I'd been asked to do in days.
I sat there and watched him play and said the right things at the right moments and tried to memorize the sound of him laughing at something on the screen.
Then I went to Haley's room.
She was at her desk doing homework.
She looked up when I came in.
"How did it go?" she said.
"Still in progress."
She studied me.
"But it's going okay?"
"It's going the right direction."
She turned back to her homework.
Then she said, without looking up, "Derek came by this afternoon."
I went still.
"He came here?"
"Mom told him to leave.
He didn't want to at first." She kept her eyes on her textbook.
"He stood on the porch for a while.
Then he left."
"Did he say anything to you?"
"He didn't know I was watching." She paused.
"He looked scared."
I didn't say anything for a moment.
"Good," I said.
I kissed her on the head and went back downstairs.
Kendra was still in the living room.
She had turned the television on but wasn't watching it.
"Derek came by," I said.
She didn't look surprised.
"I told him not to."
"He didn't listen."
"He doesn't always." She said it quietly, almost to herself.
I sat down in the armchair across from her.
"Kendra.
I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."
She looked at me.
"The lien on the house," I said.
"Did you know about it?"
She was quiet for a long time.
Long enough that the answer was already clear before she spoke.
"He told me it was a formality," she said finally.
"He said it was just to secure the initial investment.
He said it would be removed once the first properties were under management."
"Did you sign anything?"
"He said your signature was already on the refinancing documents and that it covered the lien as well.
He said it was standard."
"Kendra." I leaned forward.
"My signature on that lien was forged.
Derek copied it from the mortgage paperwork."
She stared at me.
"A forensic examiner confirmed it this morning," I said.
"Which means Derek committed deed fraud using my identity.
And depending on what you signed and when, you may have been a party to it."
She went pale.
"I didn't know—"
"I believe you," I said.
"But that's not going to matter to a prosecutor unless you can demonstrate it clearly."
"A prosecutor." She repeated the word like it was in a foreign language.
"Rebecca is filing a complaint with the county recorder tomorrow.
Once that's in motion, the district attorney's office will likely open an inquiry." I looked at her steadily.
"If you want to protect yourself, you need your own lawyer.
Not Simmons.
Someone who is working for you, not for Derek."
She pressed both hands flat on her knees.
Her face had gone from exhausted to something closer to frightened.
"He told me it was all legal," she said.
"He told me everything was handled."
"He lied to you," I said.
"The same way he told you I'd never come home early."
She looked at the television.
A cooking show was on.
Someone was decorating a cake.
"I made a terrible mistake," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"You did."
I stood up.
"Call a lawyer tonight," I said.
"Not tomorrow.
Tonight."
I picked up my bag and walked to the door.
Behind me I heard her say something, very quietly.
I turned.
"What?"
"I said I'm sorry." She wasn't looking at me.
She was looking at the television.
"Not for — I know it doesn't fix anything.
I just needed to say it."
I stood there for a moment.
May you like
"I know," I said.
Then I walked out.
