“How?”
“The company was recovering.”
“What company?”
Vanessa’s face had gone white.
“You told me the company was doing fine.”
“It was.”
“Then why did the lender send letters?”
Daniel looked at her as if he had forgotten she knew about them.
Leonard continued.
“The loan is in Daniel Brooks’s name. The lender was informed that he owned the property.”
I turned toward my son.
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Leonard did not accuse him of forging anything. He did not need to.
“The lender was given a copy of a document described as a transfer of beneficial interest.”
Daniel’s eyes closed.
I heard the rain on the awning, the idling engine at the curb, Vanessa breathing too fast.
“Where did you get it?” I asked.
Daniel opened his eyes.
“I thought it was valid.”
“You thought a paper transferring my house was valid?”
“I didn’t make it.”
“Who did?”
He said nothing.
Vanessa looked at him.
“Daniel, who did?”
His silence was the first honest answer he had given all night.
Leonard removed another sheet.
“This document was not recorded. It was not signed by Mrs. Brooks. However, it was used to make a financial representation.”
My knees weakened.
The porch blurred for a moment.
Leonard reached toward me, but I lifted one hand.
“I’m fine.”
I was not fine.
But I had spent too many years being the person who kept standing while everyone else decided what could be taken from me.
Daniel came down the final step.
“Mom, listen to me.”
“No.”
His face flinched.
