Chapter 4 - The Signature He Needed
I looked toward the filing cabinet.
Andrew followed my eyes.
That was answer enough.
My tax records were there.
Insurance forms.
Old loan documents.
Medical credentialing paperwork.
Hundreds of pages containing my signature.
“Yes.”
Nora became quiet.
“Take photographs of the cabinet before you touch anything.”
Andrew laughed nervously.
“This is insane.”
Nora heard him.
“Is Andrew there?”
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker.”
I did.
Her voice filled the dining room.
“Andrew, Claire has contacted me as her attorney regarding a potential marital and property dispute.”
“I never agreed to you representing her.”
“You do not need to.”
His face reddened.
Nora continued.
“I am advising Claire not to sign financial documents, not to transfer funds, not to destroy records, and not to leave the residence tonight unless she feels physically unsafe.”
Lorraine interrupted.
“She is trying to steal my son’s house.”
Nora paused.
“Who is speaking?”
“His mother.”
“Mrs. Parker, the ownership history of that residence is documented.”
Lorraine’s expression became poisonous.
“You lawyers always think paper matters more than family.”
“In property disputes, paper matters quite a lot.”
I nearly smiled.
Nora asked me to scan several documents and send them immediately.
Then she told me to check our joint accounts.
I opened my laptop.
The checking account looked normal.
The savings account did not.
Forty-seven thousand six hundred dollars was missing.
The transfers had been made in six separate amounts over seven months.
Each transfer went to an account labeled Parker Regional Consulting.
I looked at Andrew.
“What is Parker Regional Consulting?”
He stared at the laptop.
“A side business.”
“You never told me you had a side business.”
“It never went anywhere.”
“Then why did it receive almost fifty thousand dollars from our savings?”
Lorraine took one step backward.
Andrew noticed.
“Mom.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
I pulled up the earliest transfer.
Twelve thousand dollars.
The date was two days before Andrew and I had supposedly paid for emergency foundation work at Lorraine’s old house in Syracuse.
My stomach twisted.
“There was no foundation repair.”
Lorraine’s mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Andrew stood.
“I will put the money back.”
“With what?”
“I have assets.”
“Which assets?”
He had no answer.
Nora was still listening.
“Claire, download every statement now.”
I did.
Andrew walked toward me.
“Give me the laptop.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Do not come closer.”
He stopped.
Something about my tone reminded him that I had spent six years restraining violent strangers in ambulances and emergency rooms.
I did not want a physical confrontation.
Neither did he.
Nora told me she would see me first thing the following morning.
Before we ended the call, she said one more thing.
“Claire, document tonight carefully.”
“Why?”
“Because once people realize the records tell a different story from the one they planned to tell, they sometimes try to create a new story.”
I looked toward Lorraine.
She stared back at me.
At 10:26 that night, I heard footsteps outside my bedroom.
Then I heard the filing cabinet drawer open.
May you like
I turned on the hall light.
Lorraine was standing there with one of my old tax returns in her hand.
