Chapter 7 - THE SIGNATURE THAT COULD COST ME MILLIONS
The power of attorney looked perfect.
My name.
My address.
My signature.
Even the looping T I used when signing formal documents.
But it wasn't mine.
Claire studied the notarization.
“This is where we start.”
The notary was named Bethany Cole.
She claimed I had appeared before her personally.
On a Tuesday morning.
At 10:45.
That Tuesday, I had been sitting in a dentist's chair getting a crown replaced.
The dental office had security footage.
Timestamped.
Clear.
I couldn't have been with the notary.
So either Bethany Cole had lied.
Or someone used fake identification.
Claire contacted her attorney.
By evening, Bethany wanted to talk.
She arrived pale and shaking.
“I didn't know.”
“Didn't know what?” Claire asked.
“That she wasn't Mrs. Whitmore.”
I stared at her.
“Someone impersonated me?”
Bethany nodded.
“A woman came with your husband.”
My stomach turned.
“Describe her.”
“Blonde. Maybe thirty. Pregnant.”
Maren was brunette.
Not pregnant then.
Claire showed her photographs.
Maren.
No.
June.
No.
Several women.
Then Lorraine.
Bethany shook her head.
Finally, Claire showed a photograph pulled from Gavin's office website.
His executive assistant.
Kelsey Moore.
Bethany pointed immediately.
“Her.”
Gavin's assistant had impersonated me.
The conspiracy widened.
Claire contacted police and the district attorney's financial-crimes unit.
Within forty-eight hours, Kelsey requested a lawyer.
Then vanished.
Her apartment was empty.
Her company laptop had been wiped.
Gavin claimed he had no idea where she was.
I didn't believe him.
Neither did Claire.
The developer who planned to purchase my land agreed to suspend the deal once shown evidence of fraud.
But the contract contained a dangerous clause.
If the seller failed to close without legal cause, damages could reach $900,000.
Gavin hadn't merely tried to steal the land.
He had created a financial weapon against me.
Then June found something buried inside an old email account.
My grandmother had once rejected an offer from the same developer.
Four years before she died.
The representative who contacted her had been young.
Persistent.
And according to Grandma's email, “far too interested in family details.”
His name?
Gavin Whitmore.
I stared at the email.
May you like
The date was two years before Gavin and I supposedly met for the first time.
My husband had known exactly who I was before he ever introduced himself.
