Chương 12
For the first time that morning, I felt something almost like amusement.
“She's ambitious.”
Marcus opened his eyes.
“Mom.”
I ignored him.
Sandra said, “Our receptionist asked for identification and explained the file belonged to Patricia Wells.”
“And?”
“Mrs. Wells became upset.”
“Lauren.”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“She asked whether the original documents had been retained.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“Original documents?”
“The signed hard copy.”
Reed looked sharply at the phone.
“You have an original?”
Sandra said, “We have a paper version of one deed in our archive intake bin.”
“One deed?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was electronically uploaded.”
“It was.”
“Then how did you get a paper original?”
“A courier envelope was dropped at our office after recording.”
“By whom?”
“We are reviewing that.”
My throat tightened.
“Is my original signature on it?”
“We have not authenticated anything.”
“Does it look like ink?”
“Yes.”
I sat down on the hood of my car.
The metal was already warm from the sun.
If they had an original page with my actual signature, then Lauren had not simply copied it.
She had transformed something I knowingly signed into something I never knowingly agreed to.
Elaine's suspicion came back to me.
A page attached later.
Text changed.
Context replaced.
Reed said, “Sandra, do not let anyone remove that document.”
“It is secured.”
“Has Darlene been contacted?”
“Our counsel advised her not to discuss the matter except through law enforcement.”
“Is she there now?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“She called out this morning.”
Reed's expression hardened.
“Reason?”
“She said she was sick.”
Marcus whispered, “Jesus.”
I looked at him.
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Have you ever met her?”
“I don't think so.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
Reed turned toward Marcus.
“Mr. Wells, I'm going to ask you separately about anyone involved in signing, witnessing, or preparing documents.”
Marcus swallowed.
“Okay.”
Sandra said, “There is one more thing.”
Every conversation had one more thing now.
I was beginning to hate those words.
“What?”
“When Lauren came yesterday, she asked whether the deed had been transmitted to Sunward Equity.”
Reed stopped writing.
“What did your receptionist tell her?”
“That our office does not transmit lender packages unless separately contracted.”
“And how did Lauren respond?”
“She said, ‘Then we're fine.’”
Nobody spoke.
Sandra continued.
“She left less than a minute later.”
I looked at Reed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she may have been trying to learn what records existed and who had them.”
“So she knew the lender might discover something.”
“Possibly.”
Marcus suddenly sat down again.
He looked gray.
“What?”
I asked him.
He stared at the driveway.
“Marcus.”
“The lender called Lauren Wednesday.”
The day before I arrived.
“What did they say?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep using that sentence like a shield.”
“She told me there was a verification problem.”
“What kind?”
“She wouldn't say.”
“Did she say funding was delayed?”
“Yes.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“When was the money supposed to fund?”
“Today.”
I looked at Reed.
He was already writing.
“Time?”
he asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Morning?”
“I think by noon.”
I checked my phone.
It was 10:56.
The whole world seemed to contract around those numbers.
“Can they still fund it?”
I asked.
Deputy Reed said, “Your attorney needs to contact the lender immediately.”
“I am calling Elaine.”
I dialed.
She answered before the second ring.
“Tell me.”
“Marcus says the loan was supposed to fund today.”
“What?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“What time?”
“We don't know.”
“Give me the lender name again.”
“Sunward Equity.”
“I have it.”
Her keyboard began clattering.
“Do not hang up.”
“I won't.”
I stood in my own driveway while my attorney searched for the telephone number of a company that might, at that very moment, be preparing to lend money against the house Harold and I had spent decades paying off.
The absurdity was almost elegant.
A gull landed on the mailbox and screamed.
Nobody paid attention to it.
Elaine came back on the line.
“I have their fraud department.”
“Call them.”
“I am.”
“Can I do anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Get me your occupancy agreement, your driver's license, and the recorded deed in one clean PDF.”
“They're in the motel.”
“I photographed them.”
“Send the photographs now.”
I started attaching files with clumsy fingers.
Marcus stepped closer.
“I have the loan officer's number.”
I looked at him.
“You do?”
“It was in Lauren's messages.”
“Why were you reading her messages?”
“Because after the letter came, I stopped trusting her.”
The answer hurt in an entirely different way.
“Send it to me,” I said.
He did.
Elaine received the number seconds later.
“Elaine.”
“Yes?”
“Stop the money.”
Her voice softened.
It was not the promise I wanted.
It was the only honest one.
She hung up.
For the next twelve minutes, nothing happened.
That was almost unbearable.
A deputy carried another box from the house.
Marcus paced.
I stood beneath the porch fan even though it barely moved the hot air.
Reed took a call near his vehicle.
A landscaping crew two doors down started a leaf blower.
The ordinary noise made the wait feel obscene.
At 11:11, my phone rang.
Elaine.
I answered so quickly I nearly dropped it.
“Well?”
“The lender has placed an administrative hold on funding.”
My knees weakened.
“For how long?”
“Until they review the fraud notice and ownership dispute.”
“So the money is stopped.”
“For now.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief came first.
Then fury followed right behind it.
Marcus sat down hard on the porch.
He covered his face with both hands.
I wanted to feel sorry for him.
Part of me did.
Another part wanted him to sit there under the weight of what almost happened.
Elaine continued.
“They confirmed no funds have been disbursed.”
I opened my eyes.
“Thank God.”
“Don't celebrate yet.”
May you like
“What now?”
“The lender says Lauren submitted a certification yesterday stating there were no known ownership disputes.”
