Chapter 4 - My Signature
I thought I had misheard her.
"A what?"
"A home equity line of credit. The application was started three weeks ago."
"Against my house?"
"Yes."
My hands went numb.
The house was fully paid off. Daniel and I had celebrated the last mortgage payment with grocery-store champagne because that was what we could afford at the time.
"Was it approved?"
"No. The application was flagged because the ownership information did not match the applicant's authority."
"Who submitted it?"
The banker turned the screen slightly.
Harrison's name was there.
My son's name.
Under supporting documents was a scanned letter supposedly authorizing him to act for me.
The signature at the bottom looked almost like mine.
Almost.
I leaned closer.
Daniel used to tease me because I crossed the second "t" in Bennett with a long upward stroke.
The signature on the letter did not.
"That's forged."
The banker stopped moving.
"You're certain?"
"Absolutely."
She called a supervisor.
Then security.
Then the fraud department.
Within twenty minutes, the quiet little bank office had become the most frightening room I had ever sat in.
"We recommend you file a police report," the fraud specialist said.
I closed my eyes.
Police.
Against Harrison.
I could still see him at eight with a bloody knee, trusting me to fix everything.
Then I saw him at thirty-five calling me childish because I would not replace his wife's Gucci purse.
"I need copies of everything," I said.
On the drive home, Harrison called nine times.
I did not answer.
When I pulled into the driveway, Sloan was standing on the front steps with her arms folded.
Harrison waited behind her.
I got out holding a bank folder.
Sloan looked at it and her face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
"We need to talk," Harrison said.
"Yes," I replied. "We do."
Inside, I placed the forged authorization letter on the kitchen island.
Harrison stared at it.
Sloan did not.
She looked at me instead.
May you like
"Where did you get that?"
And that was how I knew she had seen it before.
