Chapter 7 - THE SIGNATURE
Elaine Porter met us at her office Sunday afternoon.
Ruth had called her early that morning.
The real estate agent emailed the documents directly after Nick told her, clearly and in writing, that Martha no longer spoke for him.
Elaine spread the pages across a conference table.
“First, nobody signs anything else.”
Nick nodded.
“Second, we separate what you remember signing from what you don’t.”
There were documents he recognized.
An authorization to request information.
A seller questionnaire he had barely completed.
Then there was the contract.
His name appeared at the bottom.
“That isn’t my signature.”
Elaine didn’t react dramatically.
She slid a sheet of paper toward him.
“Write down exactly why you believe that.”
Nick bent over the page.
I studied the instructions for distributing the sale proceeds.
The bank details weren’t ours.
Neither was the email address listed for him.
It was one letter different from his real address.
One letter.
Enough to keep messages from reaching him.
Elaine asked us to preserve everything.
Texts.
Emails.
Voicemails.
The original wedding video.
“Why the video?” I asked.
“Because it documents what happened. You don’t have to decide today what you want to do with it.”
On the way out, she handed Nick a copy of Rose’s will.
Martha had never given him one.
The house belonged to him.
There was no instruction to sell it.
No requirement to split the money with his mother.
No repayment she was entitled to collect.
In the car, Nick sat with the will on his lap.
“She told me Grandma left debts.”
“Did she show you any?”
“No.”
His voice was barely there.
“She said asking would make me look greedy.”
I watched a woman cross the parking lot holding a little boy’s hand.
He stumbled.
She waited.
It should not have been such a painful thing to see.
Nick turned toward me.
“I believed her because believing her was easier.”
“For you.”
He nodded.
“For me.”
My phone rang.
Lena.
“I got the videographer’s backup clips.”
“Already?”
“He heard what happened with the house. He’s saving everything.”
She paused.
“There’s something you need to see.”
She sent a short video taken near the restaurant kitchen before the reception.
Martha stood beside a catering cart.
A server asked whether she needed anything.
Martha shook her head.
Then she opened her purse.
Checked the scissors inside.
And smiled.
May you like
This hadn’t been a joke that went wrong.
She had packed for it.
