Chapter 5 - The Deed Natalie Never Knew She Signed
Natalie started crying before anyone explained.
“I didn't sign a deed.”
Mr. Bennett looked at her carefully.
“I didn't say you did.”
“Then why is my name there?”
“That is what we need to find out.”
My mother sat with both hands clasped tightly in her lap.
For once, she looked old.
Not manipulative.
Not angry.
Just exhausted.
“Mom,” Natalie said, “what did you do?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“No.”
Natalie wiped her face.
“You were trying to control everything.”
My mother flinched.
I couldn't remember the last time Natalie had ever spoken to her like that.
Mr. Bennett put the recorder documents on the table.
“There is an instrument filed six months ago.”
“Six months,” I repeated.
The same week Mom had asked Natalie to sign the authorization.
He nodded.
“It purports to transfer a partial interest in the property.”
“To Natalie?”
“Yes.”
Natalie stared at the page.
“That isn't my signature.”
Mr. Bennett studied it.
“I agree.”
My heart stopped.
“Forgery?”
“I didn't say that yet.”
“But someone signed her name.”
“Yes.”
Daniel took a photograph.
“Can we get a certified copy?”
“We should.”
Natalie stood.
“I want the police.”
Mom immediately said, “No.”
Natalie turned toward her.
“Why?”
“Because I can fix this.”
“You've been saying that for years.”
“I was protecting the family.”
“You used Claire's money.”
“I had to.”
“You forged my signature.”
“I did not forge anything.”
“Then who did?”
Mom said nothing.
That silence was answer enough.
We left Dad's old office and drove directly to the county recorder.
The certified document was waiting.
I read the transfer.
Property: 4418 Maple Ridge Drive.
Grantor: Margaret Williams.
Grantee: Natalie Williams.
Signature: Natalie Williams.
Notarized.
Date: six months earlier.
Notary: Susan Harper.
Natalie pointed at the signature.
“I wasn't there.”
Daniel took a picture.
“Do you know Susan Harper?”
Natalie shook her head.
I recognized the name.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“That's Mom's old neighbor.”
Natalie looked at me.
“The one from church?”
“Yes.”
We called her.
No answer.
We left.
Then Daniel checked the notary record.
“She's still active.”
“Address?”
He turned his laptop toward me.
A business office in Grove City.
Thirty-five minutes later, we were sitting across from Susan Harper.
She was a woman in her seventies with silver hair and a careful expression.
When she saw the document, she frowned.
“I remember this.”
Natalie's heart started pounding.
“Do you remember me?”
Mrs. Harper looked at her.
“No.”
Natalie stared.
“What?”
“I never met you.”
Silence.
Daniel leaned forward.
“Then why did you notarize this?”
Susan swallowed.
“Because the woman who brought it to me said you were out of state and couldn't attend.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“Margaret.”
My mother.
Natalie stood.
“You knew she wasn't me.”
“I believed her.”
“She showed you identification?”
“Yes.”
“Mine?”
Susan looked down.
“A copy.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where did she get it?”
Susan didn't answer.
Then she slowly opened a drawer.
Inside was a photocopy of a driver's license.
Natalie's.
Same address.
Same photograph.
But the license number had been altered.
One digit had been changed.
Daniel saw it immediately.
“That's identity fraud.”
Susan's hands started shaking.
“I didn't know.”
“You notarized a transfer.”
“I thought it was legitimate.”
Natalie was crying again.
“Why would Mom do this?”
Susan looked at her.
“She said there was going to be a problem with the mortgage and that your sister didn't want the house to go into foreclosure.”
I felt a chill.
Claire.
Not Natalie.
My mother had told Susan that I didn't want the property foreclosed.
Which wasn't true.
I had never discussed foreclosure with anyone.
“Why put the house in Natalie's name?” I asked.
Susan looked confused.
“Margaret said it would make the bank more willing to modify the loan because Natalie was younger.”
That made no sense.
But then Susan said:
“There was another form.”
She retrieved a second document.
A guarantor authorization.
With my name.
My signature.
My stomach dropped.
“That isn't mine.”
Daniel took the paper.
“Neither is mine.”
Susan looked frightened.
“Then somebody has been using your names.”
The truth became sharper.
Someone wasn't merely mishandling money.
Someone had been creating documents.
Forging signatures.
Moving property.
Building a paper trail.
And my mother's story was no longer the biggest problem.
We returned home after dark.
Natalie sat at my kitchen table, staring at nothing.
“I thought Mom was just difficult,” she whispered.
“She is.”
“She might have committed a felony.”
“I know.”
Natalie looked at me.
“Are you going to report her?”
I couldn't answer.
Because even after everything, she was my mother.
Because she had held my hand when Dad died.
Because she had sat beside me during difficult nights.
Because love didn't disappear just because trust did.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
You are asking the wrong question.
I showed Daniel.
Another message arrived.
STOP LOOKING AT YOUR MOTHER.
Then a photograph.
It showed the front of our house.
Taken from across the street.
My porch.
My car.
Our nursery window.
And then one final message:
YOUR SISTER IS NOT THE PERSON YOU SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT.
I stared at Natalie.
She was looking at me.
“What does that mean?”
I didn't know.
May you like
Then I noticed the date on the photograph.
It had been taken that morning.
