Chapter 3 - The Signature on a Form She Never Saw
Dana Washington did not begin with the mysterious photograph. She began with the sale documents.
"People get carried away by secrets," she said, spreading papers across her office table. "Meanwhile the obvious problem walks through the front door with a notary stamp."
Nia appreciated her immediately.
The public record still listed Nia as the homeowner. No completed sale had been recorded. A listing authorization and a proposed power of attorney, however, were in Graham Kessler's file. The electronic notarization certificate identified a woman named Patrice Dell, and the purchaser was an LLC called Grove Line Renewal.
"So they don't own it?" Gabriel asked.
"Not on what I've seen. But this attempted transaction is serious. I've contacted the title company and demanded they stop any closing while we challenge the documents. We'll seek a court order if necessary. We also need to report the suspected forgery."
"My mother's in the paperwork," Gabriel said. "Can we prove she did it?"
"We prove what the evidence proves," Dana answered. "Not what it would feel good to prove."
Nia pointed to her signature. It looked familiar, but the tail of the a carried a tiny break. She knew where the break came from: a scratch on a tablet screen at a community repair fair. She had signed volunteer waivers there three months earlier while demonstrating how to fix a leaking washing-machine hose.
"This isn't my pen signature," she said. "Somebody pasted it from a tablet."
"Can you find the original?"
"The community center keeps copies. I organized that event."
For the first time since the birthday party, Nia felt a small, hard piece of ground beneath her feet. She had not merely suffered a crime; she knew where to start proving it.
She called the community center herself. Ms. Inez Carter, who had run programs on Alder Street for four decades, answered on the second ring.
"Baby, I heard about the cake. Half the block heard about the cake. How's Micah?"
"Doing better. I need the waiver I signed in May."
"I'll pull it. You need the camera footage, too?"
Nia straightened. "What camera footage?"
"Odessa came by that day asking for copies. Said Gabriel needed them for insurance. I told her she could have the volunteer schedule, not anybody's signatures. She got huffy, then spent fifteen minutes by the front-desk tablet."
Dana made a note. "Please preserve the recording and original digital file. We'll arrange a proper copy."
They drove back to Alder Street with Lenora. Gabriel waited outside the community center because Graham had already complained to his employer about the punch, and Gabriel wanted no appearance of threatening witnesses.
The center smelled of coffee, floor wax, and library paste. On a bulletin board hung a photograph of Nia's mother, Elsie Bell, standing beside a row of repaired stoves with a dozen smiling neighbors.
Ms. Inez touched the photograph. "Your mama could make an old machine sing. Never did understand why she gave that skill away for free."
"She said nobody should have to choose between fixing a refrigerator and buying milk," Nia replied.
"Exactly."
The volunteer waiver appeared on the computer. The signature's broken a matched the disputed document. The recording showed Odessa at the tablet. It did not show what she copied, but it established access. Dana asked the center not to circulate it or edit the file.
Then Ms. Inez brought out a rolled survey map that Elsie had donated years before.
"I've been waiting for somebody to ask about those steps," she said.
The map showed a narrow piece of land running behind six Alder Street homes, touching Nia's back steps and ending at an alley. In the 1960s, during a road project, the city had installed a shared water-access vault there. The homeowners had negotiated an agreement so the city could reach it without turning their backyards into a public road.
"Why would a developer want it?" Nia asked.
"Look at the other side," Ms. Inez said.
Beyond the alley stood an old garment warehouse. Grove Line Renewal wanted to turn it into high-priced apartments, with a private vehicle entrance where the narrow access strip lay.
Gabriel joined them after Dana called him in. He read the map in silence.
"They can't get large construction trucks through the street out front," he said. "The rear entrance would save them a fortune."
"Does owning my house give them the whole strip?" Nia asked.
"Not automatically," Dana said. "We need the actual recorded boundaries and the old agreement. They may just be trying to gain leverage."
"Then why not ask me?"
Ms. Inez gave her a long look. "Because you would've asked what happened to the other five families."
Nia walked outside to find Gabriel seated on the center's steps. He had a voicemail from his supervisor: he was being placed on temporary leave while the city reviewed an allegation that he used violence against a contractor. He played it for her without comment.
"You could lose the house and your job over one birthday," Nia said.
"We might."
"I am so tired of you acting like you're the only one who gets to worry."
Gabriel looked at her. "I'm not trying to."
"Then say what you actually feel."
He rubbed his hands over his face. "I feel stupid. I kept sending Mom money because it was easier than admitting I wasn't home enough. And I want to hit that man again every time I remember his hand on you. But I can't. So I'm sitting here trying to figure out what a better husband does next."
Nia sat beside him carefully.
"He listens," she said. "Then he does the paperwork with me."
"All right."
She took his hand. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But a beginning.
When they returned to Dana's office, a message from the title company's compliance department was waiting. Someone had submitted an additional identification packet that morning to push the sale forward.
It contained a video of Nia supposedly approving the transaction.
The woman in the video wore Nia's face, spoke in Nia's voice, and said she wanted Odessa to handle everything.
But the woman was sitting in a room Nia had never seen.
Dana watched twice. "We'll have this examined. Don't assume anything until then."
May you like
Nia stared at the screen.
"They stole my signature," she said. "Now they're trying to steal my voice."
