Chapter 7 - THE NOTARY’S SECRET
I stared at the looping signature of my mother on the fraudulent document.
Sarah Jenkins. She had died of breast cancer three years ago. She had been a hardworking, exhausted legal secretary who spent her evenings notarizing real estate documents to pay for my college tuition.
“You’re lying,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “My mother would never help someone steal two million dollars. She would never frame an innocent woman.”
Richard let out a dark, mocking laugh from his position against the wall. “Everybody has a price, Claire. Your mother’s medical bills were piling up. I offered her ten thousand dollars in cash to stamp a backdated power of attorney. She took the money and stamped the paper.”
I felt a physical ache in my chest. The idea that my mother—the woman who had taught me to always stand up for people like Martha—had been corrupted by this monster was too much to bear.
Luca picked up the document, his eyes scanning the notary seal. He looked at me, his expression softening with genuine sympathy. “Claire, even if she did, she was desperate. It doesn't define who she was.”
“It defines her estate,” Celine said sharply, crossing her arms. “If Richard goes down for fraud, the feds will trace the notary. They’ll find the ten thousand dollars he gave her. They will seize your house, Claire. You’ll be on the street. So put the locket down, Martha, and let Richard and I walk out of here.”
Martha looked at me. The silver locket was heavy in her hands. She had finally found the weapon to destroy her abuser, but using it meant destroying my life in the process.
“Claire,” Martha said softly. “I won’t do it. I won’t let him take your home.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. The shock was fading, replaced by a sudden, intense clarity.
I looked down at the signature again.
Something was wrong.
My mother was a meticulous woman. She kept a detailed logbook of every single document she ever stamped. When she died, she left me a locked firebox. She had told me, “If anyone ever questions my work, the truth is in the box.”
I had never opened it, because I never had a reason to.
Until tonight.
“What was the date you claim she notarized this?” I asked Richard, my voice hardening.
Richard frowned. “October 14th. Three years ago.”
I looked at the yellow tag sticking out of Luca’s pocket. The one with the tiny sunflower I had drawn this morning.
And suddenly, the universe clicked perfectly into place.
“The number on that yellow tag,” I said, pointing at Luca’s pocket. “Celine said it was an offshore routing number for the Cayman account.”
“It is,” Celine snapped. “I memorized it.”
“Read the number aloud, Luca,” I said.
Luca pulled the tag out of his pocket and read the white sticker. “409-772-118.”
I let out a breathless laugh. It wasn't a routing number at all.
“That’s not an offshore account,” I said, looking right into Richard’s eyes. “That is the serial number of my mother’s notary commission. It’s printed on every single stamp she ever made.”
Celine froze. “What?”
“You didn't memorize a bank routing number, Celine,” I said, taking a step toward her. “You memorized the notary license number on the fraudulent paperwork Richard gave you, because you’re not an accountant and you didn't know the difference. You printed that number on a sticker and put it on Martha’s key today to frame her.”
Richard’s face drained of color. He looked at Celine as if she were the dumbest creature on earth. “You idiot. You put a state license number on the key?”
“But that means,” Luca said, his eyes lighting up with realization, “the power of attorney wasn't stamped three years ago. If Richard only gave Celine the paperwork recently to set up the Cayman account…”
“My mother didn't stamp this document,” I finished. “She died three years ago. Richard stole her old notary seal after she passed away and stamped it himself. He forged her signature just like he forged Martha’s.”
Richard lunged.
He didn't go for me. He went for Martha, his hands outstretched, aiming for the silver locket that proved he killed his first wife.
He never made it.
May you like
Luca stepped in smoothly, catching Richard by the collar of his trench coat and slamming him hard onto the linoleum floor. The heavy impact rattled the kitchen cabinets. Luca planted his knee firmly in the center of Richard’s back, pinning him down.
“Call the police, Claire,” Luca said calmly, not taking his eyes off Celine, who was backing toward the door in terror. “Tell them we have a man here for trespassing, forgery, and murder.”
