“The date printed there,” my father said.
“May third?”
“Yes.”
Leah looked toward the house.
Even through the camera, I could see the change in her face.
Not alarm.
Certainty.
“Khloe did not own this property on May third,” she said.
The road went quiet.
My closing had taken place on May seventeenth.
The agreement claimed I had granted permanent rights to a house that still belonged to the previous owner.
Gavin recovered first.
“It was an understanding,” he said.
“The date doesn’t matter.”
“It matters when you are presenting the document as legally binding,” Leah replied.
She turned to the signature page.
“It also claims the agreement was signed in person in Illinois before a notary.
Khloe was here in this county that entire day for the inspection, walk-through, and insurance meeting.
I was with her for two of those appointments.”
My father’s voice hardened.
“You’re her attorney.
Of course you’ll say that.”
“I have time-stamped records,” Leah said.
“So does the inspector.
So does the insurance agent.
The notary information can also be verified.”
My mother stared at the hydrangea in her hands.
Gavin pointed at the house.
“The signature is hers.”
“It resembles hers,” Leah said.
“Where did you obtain it?”
“No one obtained anything.”
“Then you will not object to an examination of the original file, its creation history, and the device used to produce it.”
Gavin’s eyes flicked toward my father.
That single glance changed the morning.
My father saw it too.
“Stop looking at me,” he snapped.
“You made the document,” Gavin said.
“I prepared what we discussed.”
“You said it would hold up.”
My mother whispered his name, but Gavin was no longer listening.
He stepped toward my father, lowering his voice without lowering it enough.
“You copied her signature from the loan papers.”
My stomach turned.
Five years earlier, I had cosigned a small family loan after my parents told me they needed temporary help.
I had signed forms at their kitchen table while Gavin paced behind me, impatient for the money to clear.
The signature on their supposed occupancy agreement had not been guessed.
It had been taken.
My father’s face darkened.
“You were the one who needed the property listed immediately.”
“And you said she would fold,” Gavin shot back.
Leah held up one hand.
“I suggest both of you stop speaking.”
Neither did.
Gavin jabbed a finger toward the lake house.
“I already built the business around this place.”
