Chapter 3 - MY SIGNATURE
“Show me.”
Matthew didn’t move.
“Mom—”
“Show me the paper with my name on it.”
Jessica stepped between us.
“It’s not what you think.”
“I haven’t told you what I think.”
She looked at Matthew.
He looked sick.
Finally, he went upstairs.
I followed.
Jessica followed me.
He opened one of the boxes in my bedroom and pulled out a gray folder.
My bedroom.
Their box.
Their paperwork.
My name.
He handed it to me.
I opened it.
HOME EQUITY LINE OF CREDIT.
Requested amount: $180,000.
Property address: my home.
Borrower: Eleanor Porter.
I kept reading.
Income.
Assets.
Social Security number.
Estimated property value.
Everything.
Then I reached the signature page.
There it was.
Eleanor Porter.
It looked like my handwriting.
Almost.
I had signed my name every day for more than fifty years.
You know your own signature.
This one was too careful.
Too slow.
Like someone had copied it.
“That is not my signature.”
Matthew said nothing.
Jessica spoke.
“It was only preliminary.”
“It is a loan application.”
“It hasn’t funded.”
“You forged my name.”
“No one forged anything.”
I held up the page.
“I did not sign this.”
Matthew whispered, “I used the electronic signature from the insurance forms.”
For a second, I didn’t understand.
Then I did.
Two years earlier, Matthew had helped me renew a homeowner’s insurance document online after I had trouble uploading it.
My digital signature.
Saved.
Accessible.
Used.
My knees went weak.
“You used my signature?”
He looked at the floor.
“I thought you would agree.”
“So you signed first?”
“It was just to see if we qualified.”
“We?”
“The bank required the owner.”
“I’m the owner.”
“I know.”
“No, Matthew. I don’t think you do.”
Jessica suddenly snapped.
“Nothing happened!”
I turned.
“Something happened the moment you used my identity.”
“Oh, please.”
Matthew said, “Jessica.”
“No. She’s acting like we stole the house.”
“You tried to borrow one hundred eighty thousand dollars against it.”
“To save our family!”
“This is my family too!”
My voice echoed through the bedroom.
For once, Jessica had nothing to say.
I grabbed my phone.
Matthew’s head came up.
“Who are you calling?”
“The bank.”
“Mom, don’t.”
That sentence told me everything.
I called anyway.
The fraud department transferred me twice.
I gave my name.
Address.
Last four digits of my Social Security number.
Then the woman on the line became very careful.
“Mrs. Porter, I’m going to place an immediate hold on this application.”
“I never authorized it.”
“I understand.”
“Has any money been released?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
Then she added, “However, there are additional documents on file.”
I closed my eyes.
“What documents?”
“A power of attorney authorization.”
Daniel’s warning flashed through my mind.
I had never given Matthew power of attorney.
“I did not sign one.”
She paused.
“Mrs. Porter, the document we received appears notarized.”
Matthew sat on the edge of the bed.
His face was gray.
I stared at him.
“Who notarized it?”
The woman said she could not discuss the document until identity verification was completed.
I scheduled an appointment for that morning.
When I ended the call, I held up the folder.
“Who created the power of attorney?”
Matthew stood.
“Mom—”
“Who?”
Jessica said, “We found a form online.”
My mouth fell open.
“You created a legal document giving yourselves control over my finances?”
“It was supposed to be temporary.”
“You signed my name again?”
Nobody answered.
I walked toward the closet.
I pulled Jessica’s dresses from the hangers.
They hit the floor.
She screamed.
“What are you doing?”
“Removing your things from my room.”
“You can’t throw my clothes around!”
I turned.
“You forged my signature and you’re worried about your dresses?”
She lunged forward and grabbed my arm.
Hard.
Matthew immediately stood.
“Jessica!”
I looked down at her fingers around my wrist.
“Take your hand off me.”
For one second, she didn’t.
Then she released me.
I stepped back.
“Both of you leave.”
“We have nowhere to go,” Matthew said.
“Hotel.”
“We can’t afford one.”
“That is not my problem anymore.”
His face broke.
“Mom, please.”
My anger almost cracked then.
Because he was still my son.
The boy who used to fall asleep on my shoulder during Christmas movies.
The teenager who called me from college every Sunday.
The man who held my hand at George’s funeral.
I wanted desperately to find that person somewhere inside the man standing in front of me.
Then my phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered.
“Ellie, I checked the county property records.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
May you like
His next words made me sit down.
“Someone tried to file a deed transferring partial ownership of your house to Matthew.”
