Chapter 2 - MY SIGNATURE WASN’T MINE
I drove to my attorney’s office before finishing breakfast.
The loan document looked legitimate.
My full legal name.
My address.
My Social Security number partially redacted.
Even my signature resembled the one I used on property records.
But I had never signed it.
“Can we prove forgery?” I asked.
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“We need originals, not scans.”
The lender was a private financing company called Northbridge Capital Services.
I had never heard of it.
But Jason had.
That became obvious when I called him.
“Northbridge.”
Silence.
Then:
“Why are you asking?”
My heartbeat slowed.
“Because there’s a lien on my house.”
Another pause.
“Maybe Dad did something.”
“Dad couldn’t sign my name.”
“I don’t know, Emily.”
“You do know.”
He hung up.
That was confirmation enough.
My attorney advised me not to confront anyone directly.
So I didn’t.
I started collecting records.
Five years of tax payments.
Insurance.
Renovations.
Bank statements.
Everything proving the house belonged solely to me.
By evening, the lender sent us the loan file.
The application claimed the money was for “residential improvements and family business investment.”
The account receiving the funds belonged to:
WILLOW RIDGE CONSULTING LLC.
Owner:
Jason Carter.
My brother.
I stared at the screen.
Three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
He had borrowed it against my property.
Without permission.
Then something worse appeared.
The loan file included a notarized authorization.
The notary was Diane’s sister.
My stepmother’s sister.
Aunt Melissa.
The woman who had looked down at her plate when Dad told me to disappear.
Not innocent.
Just quiet.
I called my father.
He answered immediately.
“Emily?”
“Did you know Jason borrowed against the house?”
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
“Dad.”
“He said it was temporary.”
There it was.
My father knew.
“How long?”
“He said six months.”
“You knew he forged my signature?”
“No.”
“You knew he was using the house?”
“He told me you’d agreed.”
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
I laughed.
It sounded awful.
“So you believed Jason when he said I agreed to risk a house I paid cash for, but on Thanksgiving you accused me of holding money over everyone?”
Dad’s voice broke.
“I made a mistake.”
“No. A mistake is forgetting to buy cranberry sauce.”
Then he whispered something unexpected.
“Emily, Jason didn’t keep the money.”
I went still.
“Who did?”
Dad lowered his voice.
“Diane.”
May you like
And suddenly the family problem was no longer just my brother stealing from me.
My stepmother had taken most of the money.
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