Behind some old winter coats, there was a hidden panel that Winston had helped me install years ago. I pressed the exact spot and the secret compartment popped open.
Inside was the fireproof box where I kept the original deed, property tax receipts, and all the payments made in my name. I took out the folder and started reviewing the papers until I saw a document that stopped my heart.
It was an assignment of rights. Using a forged version of my name and signature, it transferred fifty percent of the property to Peter and Tiffany.
The date on the paper was from six months ago. My hands went numb because I had never signed such a thing or authorized any transfer.
I took clear pictures of it with my phone and tucked my real documents into my bag. I left the fake document exactly where I had found it so they wouldn’t know I knew.
When I walked back downstairs, Tiffany was waiting for me with her arms crossed. “Are you done already?” she asked.
“Yes, and thank you for letting me in,” I said calmly. “We changed the locks for security reasons because of the children, as we didn’t want just anyone getting in,” she added.
I took a deep breath. “That is very responsible of you,” I replied before walking out.
I returned to the motel and immediately called my lawyer, Simon Vance, who had handled the original purchase of the house. I sent him all the photos and two hours later he called me back with a very grim tone.
“Rosalind, the signature does not match yours at all,” Simon said. “Even worse, the document was submitted to the Registry months ago and is currently under review.”
“Does that mean this is fraud?” I asked. “Yes, it is forgery and an attempted theft of your property,” he confirmed.
I hung up and immediately called my son, Peter. He answered on the third ring and sounded very distracted.
“Mom? Is everything okay?” he asked. “I am in Newport at a hotel because your wife kicked me out of my house, and I also found a document where I supposedly gave you half of my property,” I told him.
There was a silence so long that I thought the call had dropped. “What are you saying?” he finally whispered.
“I am going to send you a photo and I want you to tell me if that signature is actually yours,” I said. Thirty seconds after I sent the image, he called me back sounding absolutely devastated.