Chapter 5 - The Notary
The affidavit did not transfer ownership.
Daniel made that clear immediately.
It did not give Mother legal rights to my deed.
But it was designed to create confusion.
The document stated that Evelyn Carter had been invited to establish permanent residence at my address beginning August first.
It claimed she was contributing toward household expenses.
It claimed we had a verbal family occupancy agreement.
Worst of all, it carried a notarized signature beneath a statement attributed to me.
I had never signed it.
“That’s not my signature.”
I said.
Daniel nodded.
“I know.”
It looked like mine from a distance.
But my real signature curved upward at the end.
This one didn’t.
“Who notarized it?”
A woman named Linda Pierce.
I didn’t know her.
Daniel did some searching.
Linda worked at a tax-preparation office three neighborhoods away.
We drove there with copies of my identification and the affidavit.
Linda looked nervous the moment she saw it.
“I remember this.”
She said.
“Were you present when Audrey signed?”
Daniel asked.
Linda looked at me.
Then back at him.
“No.”
My skin went cold.
“Then why did you notarize it?”
“She was supposed to come back.”
“Who?”
“Evelyn.”
Linda explained that Mother had visited the office carrying several documents.
She told Linda I was working out of state and needed urgent family paperwork completed.
“She showed me a copy of Audrey’s license.”
Linda said.
“She said Audrey had already signed.”
Daniel’s face became rigid.
“A notary cannot simply rely on someone else’s statement that a signer appeared.”
“I know.”
Linda whispered.
“I made a mistake.”
A mistake.
That word seemed small.
Mother had used my identification.
My signature.
My address.
And someone else’s carelessness.
I contacted the police.
This time, the situation changed.
The morning argument had been a property dispute.
The affidavit was potentially fraud.
Mother called while I was still speaking with an officer.
I answered on speaker.
“Audrey.”
She sounded tired.
“Are you finished humiliating me?”
“Did you forge my signature?”
Silence.
Then she sighed.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“We needed paperwork.”
“We?”
“My daughters needed stability.”
“I’m also your daughter.”
“You’re different.”
There it was.
I almost laughed.
Different.
Meaning employed.
Different.
Meaning responsible.
Different.
Meaning useful.
“What did you use my license for?”
I asked.
“You gave me a copy years ago.”
“For an emergency contact form.”
“Exactly.”
“No.”
I said.
“Not exactly.”
“You’re twisting everything.”
“I’m asking whether you signed my name.”
Mother’s voice sharpened.
“You were going to agree eventually.”
My entire body went still.
The officer beside me looked up.
“Say that again.”
I said.
“I’m not doing this over the phone.”
“Did you sign my name because you believed I would agree eventually?”
Silence.
Then Mother said.
“You owe this family more than an empty house.”
She hung up.
The officer had heard every word.
May you like
So had Daniel.
For the first time, my family problem had become evidence.
