Dana met me at the notary’s office the next morning. Nadia, the owner, had set the appointment log and a copy of the document on the counter.
The log recorded Mason as the person who brought the paperwork. Under “additional signer,” someone had written Claire Bennett. The identification field was blank.
Nadia studied the page with visible discomfort. “I thought I saw you.”
“You did not.”
“I understand that now.”
She described the other person: a woman in her late thirties, dark hair pulled back, wearing a long gray coat. She remembered the woman’s glasses and a small scar beneath her chin.
Kelsey had a scar beneath her chin from a bicycle fall when she was twelve.
Nadia could not be certain. She said the woman had kept her head down. Mason had told her I was in a hurry and had left my identification in the car. Nadia had asked to see it. Mason said he would get it, then took a phone call outside.
When he returned, he had a photocopy.
“I made a mistake,” Nadia said. “I should have refused to notarize it.”
Dana asked her to provide a sworn statement. Nadia agreed.
The document was not the simple occupancy agreement Kelsey had shown me. It was a property authorization that gave Mason limited authority to obtain financing against the house. The wording was dense. The signature line was followed by a notary block stating that I had appeared in person and presented identification.
I had done neither.
Nadia’s stamp and signature were on the page. The stamp did not make the document genuine. It made the false statement look official.
I felt a familiar tightness across my belly. I took a breath and waited for it to pass.
Dana noticed. “Do you need to sit?”
“I’m all right.”
“Let’s take this one step at a time.”
We made copies and left the original with Nadia. Dana submitted the statement to the bank and advised me to report the impersonation to the county fraud unit.
I called Kelsey from the parking lot. She answered after three rings.
“Were you at the notary with Mason?”
“What?”
“Nadia saw a woman with your scar.”
A pause.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She has the appointment log. Your name isn’t written there. But she remembers you.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Then tell me where you were.”
“I don’t keep a record of every Thursday.”
“Did you sign as me?”
“No.”
I wanted to believe the answer, but her voice had become too careful.
“Did Mason ask you to help him?”
“He asked me to help our parents.”
“By pretending to be me?”
“He said you knew about the papers.”
“You heard him say that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see me sign?”
Another silence.
“No.”
“Then why did you go?”
“I went to keep him from making a mess.”
“You went into a notary’s office with him while he used my name.”
“I did not sign anything.”
“Did you show your ID?”
“No.”
I believed that part. It didn’t make her innocent.
“What did you do?”
“I stood there.”
“Why?”
She breathed out sharply. “Because I thought he was handling it. He said you were at work and had already signed. I asked him if you knew.”
“And he said yes.”
“Yes.”
“You could have called me.”
“I know.”
The conversation went quiet. I could hear a television in the background.
“I didn’t want our parents to lose everything,” she said. “The apartment was being sold. Mason said the bank was making a problem out of a small shortfall. He said one signature would buy time.”
“Did you know he was using money from a client account?”
“No.”
“Did you know he was lying about New York?”
“I knew he wasn’t there.”
“When did you find out?”
“Monday morning. I went to his place first. He had been staying there.”
“What place?”
“He rented a room near the bank.”
That was news. Mason had a second residence.
Kelsey said she thought he needed space, not that he was hiding. She said he told her to go to my house and move his parents in before I could change my mind. She repeated that he had claimed I agreed.
“Why did you tell me I was never part of your family?”
“Because I was angry.”
“You already said that.”
“I know. I thought if you felt alone, you’d stop fighting him and let the move happen.”
The words settled between us.
I asked why she wanted me to stop fighting.
“Because I thought there was no harm in helping them. Because they’re our parents. Because Mason said it was all settled.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“Did you know it wasn’t?”
She didn’t answer.
“I’m not trying to make you the villain,” I said. “I need the truth.”
“Then the truth is I went along with him. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t accept the apology. Not yet.
I asked her to tell Dana what she knew. She agreed. She said she would also tell their parents the loan was not approved and the house wasn’t changing hands.
When I ended the call, I returned to the bank’s fraud line. I told Peter there might have been another person present when the document was notarized. He asked me not to speculate in the report, but said he would add the information as an investigative lead.
At home, I made a list of what I knew. Mason had lied about travel, attempted to borrow against my home, misrepresented the purpose of the loan, and involved his sister in a false notarization. The bank was also investigating an employee account.
The list looked too clean for the mess underneath it.
That afternoon, a detective from the county fraud unit called. She asked me to come in the following day and bring every document I had.
Before we hung up, she asked whether Mason had access to my identification.
“He had access to my old email and the house,” I said.
“Do you know if he had a copy of your driver’s license?”
I thought of the drawer where I kept old insurance forms.
“I’m checking.”
When I searched the filing cabinet, the envelope holding my expired license was empty.
END PART 7
