She looked at the floor.
“Lauren.”
“Attorney’s name.”
“Stephen Voss.”
The broker made a sound under his breath.
The officer wrote it down. “And the power of attorney?”
“That was notarized,” Lauren said.
“By whom?”
She did not respond.
Nora looked at her phone. “The notary is listed as Diane Mercer.”
My heart stopped.
Diane Mercer had been my wife’s closest friend. She had notarized documents for me for years. She had stood beside me at the hospital when my wife died.
“She would never—”
Michael came down the stairs.
“She didn’t.”
Everyone turned.
His cheek was still red.
He held a small envelope in one hand.
“Dad,” he said, “I need to tell you something before they find it themselves.”
He placed the envelope on the table.
The flap had been opened and resealed.
“I found this in Lauren’s desk yesterday.”
Lauren rushed toward him.
The officer moved between them.
Michael took out a flash drive and a folded piece of paper.
“I copied the files from her laptop.”
Lauren’s voice turned sharp. “You went through my things?”
“You were going to sell my father’s house.”
“I was trying to save us.”
“You were going to leave me with the debt.”
