Chapter 2 - THE LEASE I NEVER SIGNED
For several seconds, I simply stared at the fake signature.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because my family had finally crossed from entitlement into paperwork.
I called Danielle.
“Does this affect the sale?”
“Not if we establish it isn’t legitimate.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then we document that.”
My real estate attorney, Simone Park, joined the conversation within an hour.
She asked whether I had ever given Megan written or verbal permission to occupy the condo.
“No.”
“Did you sign any family lease?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize anyone to sign for you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She advised me to preserve the document and avoid confronting my family until we understood how it reached the HOA.
The answer came quickly.
Megan had submitted it.
She told the building manager she was preparing for a “family transfer” and needed elevator reservations for move-in day.
The manager, thankfully, had not approved anything without contacting the owner.
Me.
Then building security provided something I wasn’t expecting.
Video.
Three weeks before Christmas, while I was working late downtown, Megan and Mom had entered my building.
Mom used my emergency key.
I had given it to her two years earlier after a pipe leak while I was traveling.
I never asked for it back.
The footage showed them inside my unit for almost forty minutes.
They measured walls.
Opened closets.
Photographed rooms.
Megan even stood on my balcony filming a video.
I remembered the Facebook teaser she posted days later:
Big changes coming soon.
Now I knew where it came from.
I called Mom.
“Did you take Megan into my condo while I wasn’t there?”
Silence.
Then:
“We were just looking.”
“With my key.”
“You gave me that key.”
“For emergencies.”
“This is family, Claire.”
That sentence was starting to sound less like affection and more like a password people used whenever consent became inconvenient.
“Did you know about the fake lease?”
“It wasn’t fake.”
My blood went cold.
“I never signed it.”
“Your father said the signature was just a formality.”
I closed my eyes.
Dad.
Of course.
“Who created it?”
Another silence.
“Mom?”
“Kyle downloaded something online.”
There it was.
Kyle.
The unemployed musician who was already planning a studio inside my home had apparently also become the family’s legal-document specialist.
I changed the locks that afternoon.
Closing was still moving forward.
Then Simone called.
“Claire, there’s another document.”
I almost laughed.
“What now?”
“Your father contacted the buyer’s attorney.”
“Why?”
“He says you can’t sell the condo without repaying him.”
I went still.
“Repaying him for what?”
Simone sent me a scanned promissory note.
According to the document, Dad had loaned me $75,000 for my down payment six years earlier.
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My signature appeared at the bottom.
That signature was fake too.
