Chapter 3 - MY MOTHER-IN-LAW SIGNED MY NAME
Diane denied forging my signature.
She called it “family paperwork.”
That was her exact phrase.
We spoke by phone with Rachel listening.
“You’re exaggerating,” Diane said. “Eric was handling household finances.”
“He forged my signature.”
“He did no such thing.”
“Then who signed my name?”
Silence.
“Diane?”
“You gave him permission to manage things.”
“That isn’t permission to impersonate me.”
“You’re married.”
I laughed once.
“Marriage is not a power of attorney.”
She hung up.
Ten minutes later, Eric called.
This time I answered.
“Claire, we need to stop involving lawyers.”
“You tried to borrow one hundred eighty thousand dollars against my house.”
“Our house.”
“No.”
He exhaled sharply.
“This is exactly the problem. You never saw us as equals.”
“I paid for the house before we married.”
“I’ve lived there four years.”
“That does not put you on the deed.”
“I paid utilities.”
“So did I.”
He lowered his voice.
“Kyle’s business had an opportunity.”
“With my house?”
“It would’ve been temporary.”
There it was.
Temporary.
The word people use when they want permanent access to someone else’s risk.
“What opportunity?”
“Wholesale parts contract.”
“How much did he need?”
“About ninety thousand.”
“And the rest?”
Silence.
“Eric.”
“Mom has debt.”
I stopped.
“What debt?”
“She refinanced her condo.”
“For what?”
Another pause.
“Kyle.”
I closed my eyes.
So the entire family was circulating debt around the youngest adult who never learned to support himself.
“How much does Diane owe?”
“About seventy-two thousand.”
“And you wanted me to carry that too.”
“No. We would repay it.”
“With what?”
“Kyle’s business.”
I almost laughed.
Rachel motioned for me to keep him talking.
“Why move them into the house?”
“Mom’s condo is being sold.”
That was new.
“She told me her lease ended.”
Eric said nothing.
“Eric.”
“She didn’t want you knowing.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d judge her.”
“No. Because I’d ask numbers.”
Silence.
That was the answer.
Then I heard Diane in the background.
“Tell her we have rights!”
Eric covered the phone, but not fast enough.
I said:
“You searched my office last night.”
He stopped breathing.
“What?”
“The cameras.”
Long silence.
“We were looking for the trust papers.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom said the transfer might be invalid.”
“Who told her?”
“A lawyer.”
“What lawyer?”
He hesitated.
Then said:
“Michael Trent.”
My stomach tightened.
I knew the name.
May you like
Michael Trent was the attorney who helped create my trust.
And he was the only person besides Rachel and me who knew exactly why I had created it.
