Chapter 7: The Woman in the Notary's Office
By nine the next morning, I was sitting across from the notary who supposedly watched me sign away my house.
Her office smelled like printer paper and burnt coffee.
A woman named Marlene Jacobs sat behind a desk covered in folders.
She was maybe sixty, with silver hair pulled into a knot.
Evelyn sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke at first.
Marlene opened the file.
“I want to be clear,” she said.
“I notarized the document presented to me.””
“You notarized my signature.””
“Yes.””
“I didn't sign it.””
Her face tightened.
“That is what your attorney told me.””
I leaned forward.
“Then tell me who sat in front of you.””
Marlene looked at the file.
“A woman.””
My skin prickled.
“What woman?””
“She introduced herself as Eleanor Bennett.””
“That wasn't me.””
“I understand that now.””
“Did she look like me?””
Marlene hesitated.
“From a distance.””
My stomach turned.
“How close were you?””
“About six feet.””
“Did she show identification?””
“Yes.””
“What kind?””
“A state driver's license.””
Evelyn slid a photocopy across the desk.
Marlene looked at it.
Then she covered her mouth.
“That woman.””
I stared at the photograph.
It wasn't me.
It was Sloan.
Not exactly.
Her hair was darker in the picture.
She wore glasses.
Her face was angled differently.
But it was unmistakably Sloan.
“She impersonated me,” I whispered.
Marlene's eyes filled with horror.
“She told me you had recently changed your appearance.””
I almost laughed.
“What?””
“She said you'd lost weight and started wearing your hair differently.””
Evelyn's jaw tightened.
“She prepared you for this.””
Marlene nodded miserably.
“I am so sorry.””
I looked at the date again.
“Was my son with her?””
Marlene's expression changed.
“Yes.””
“What did he say?””
“He didn't speak much.””
“Was anyone else there?””
“A man from Westbridge Title.””
I felt my hands curl into fists.
“So this wasn't some desperate mistake.””
“No,” Evelyn said quietly.
“It was planned.””
Marlene swallowed.
“I have security footage.””
I looked up sharply.
“You do?””
“Yes. We installed cameras after a break-in last year.””
“Can we see it?””
She hesitated.
“I've already sent a copy to the police.””
For the first time in forty-eight hours, I felt something besides anger.
Relief.
“Good.””
My phone buzzed.
Harrison.
I didn't answer.
He called again.
Then a text appeared.
*Mom, we need to talk before this gets out of control.*
I showed Evelyn.
She didn't react.
Another message came.
*Please don't do anything you'll regret.*
I stared at those words.
Then I typed back.
*You should be worried about what you regret.*
I hit send.
Five seconds later, my phone rang.
I answered.
“Harrison.””
“Mom, listen to me.””
“No. You listen.””
“I'm trying to protect you.””
“By forging my signature?””
His breathing stopped.
“Who told you that?””
“You did.””
“I didn't—”
“You have until tonight to tell me the truth.””
“Mom, you're misunderstanding—”
“Seventeen thousand dollars from my account.””
Silence.
“A mortgage application against my house.””
Silence.
“A deed transferring my property to Sloan.””
Nothing.
“And a fake power of attorney.””
His voice dropped.
“You don't know what you're talking about.””
“Then come home.””
“I can't.””
“Why?””
“Because Sloan is—”
He stopped.
“Sloan is what?””
“I have to go.””
The call ended.
Evelyn looked at me.
“What was that?””
“I don't know.””
But I knew someone who might.
That afternoon, a police detective came to my house.
Detective Marcus Hale placed a thin evidence envelope on my kitchen table.
“We reviewed the notary footage.””
My heart thudded.
“And?””
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a still photograph.
Sloan sat at Marlene's desk.
Harrison stood behind her.
And on the table between them was my husband's old leather document case.
I froze.
“That case,” I whispered.
Detective Hale nodded.
“You recognize it?””
“It was in my bedroom.””
“Do you know what was inside?””
“My husband's estate papers.””
“Which ones?””
I thought about it.
“His original will.””
The detective's expression changed.
“Is that will missing?””
I slowly stood.
“I thought it was in the safe.””
I ran upstairs.
Opened the safe.
Moved the medals.
The insurance policy.
The passport.
I searched again.
The original will was gone.
So was one other document.
My husband's handwritten letter explaining why he'd structured his estate the way he had.
I returned to the kitchen.
Detective Hale was still there.
“Detective,” I said, “what would happen if someone destroyed my husband's original will?””
“That depends on whether copies exist and the laws governing the estate.””
“There is a copy.””
“Then that's good.””
I shook my head.
“You don't understand.””
“What?””
“The copy doesn't name Sloan.””
He studied me.
“Who does it name?””
I looked toward the staircase.
“My son.””
Detective Hale went very still.
“Then why would they steal it?””
Before I could answer, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Then looked at me.
“Mrs. Bennett…”
“Yes?””
“We just got confirmation from the title company.””
My chest tightened.
“What confirmation?””
“The mortgage application wasn't filed to buy another property.””
He turned the phone toward me.
“They were using your house as collateral.””
“For what?””
“To cover a debt.””
I read the amount.
It was almost a quarter of a million dollars.
My mouth went dry.
“Whose debt?””
May you like
Detective Hale didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, “Your daughter-in-law's.””