PART 4
For a second, I honestly thought I had misheard her.
“A document?” I repeated. “What kind of document?”
Patricia’s expression had lost every trace of calm.
She put the call on speaker.
A woman introduced herself as Helen Morris, deputy recorder for the county clerk’s office.
“Ms. Bennett,” she said, “I’m calling because an affidavit affecting Parcel 18-4721 was presented for recording yesterday. During routine review, one of our clerks noticed irregularities involving the notarization.”
Patricia spoke first.
“Was it recorded?”
“It was accepted provisionally,” Helen replied. “But we immediately flagged it for investigation before it could be relied upon for any transfer.”
My hands tightened around the coffee mug.
“What does the affidavit say?”
There was a pause.
“It alleges that the current parcel is subject to an unresolved beneficial interest belonging to descendants of Elias Whitmore.”
Dara.
The name didn’t need to be spoken.
Patricia’s voice became precise.
“Who submitted it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that over an unsecured call, but I recommend your client come to the courthouse Monday morning.”
The line disconnected.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Finally, Patricia looked at me.
“Did you authorize anyone to file anything?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything recently besides work documents?”
“No.”
She nodded once.
“Then someone has just made a very serious mistake.”
I barely slept that night.
The mountains, usually peaceful, felt strangely watchful.
Every creak of the cabin sounded louder.
Around midnight, rain began tapping against the roof I had spent months repairing.
I walked through the house checking every window, not because I expected danger, but because anxiety needed somewhere to go.
At 6:15 Monday morning, Patricia and I left for the county courthouse.
The building sat on the town square between a brick post office and an antique bookstore.
Inside, Helen Morris was waiting with a sealed folder.
She led us into a private records room.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you,” she said quietly, “that filing a false property instrument can carry both civil and criminal consequences.”
She opened the folder.
The affidavit looked official.
County formatting.
Legal descriptions.
Parcel number.
Even my property address.
But the deeper we read, the stranger it became.
According to the document, the Whitmore heirs had unknowingly retained an equitable ownership interest that survived every subsequent sale.
It sounded impressive.
It was also legally absurd.
Patricia pointed to the final page.
“There.”
The notary seal.
Helen nodded.
“That’s what our clerk noticed.”
The seal belonged to a notary whose commission had expired almost eighteen months earlier.
Even worse, the signature of the supposed notary did not match the one on file.
Patricia looked up.
“This is forged.”
Helen answered carefully.
“We believe the notarization is invalid. Whether the entire document is fraudulent will be determined by investigators.”
