I asked Colin to speak through Elaine.
He agreed immediately.
That reaction told me he might be more frightened than angry.
The next day, Elaine met him with the Shahs’ attorney present.
I attended remotely while Lily slept beside my desk.
Colin placed his documents on the conference table.
One was a purchase agreement.
Another was a draft deed that had not been executed or recorded.
There was also a supposed power of attorney.
My name appeared on it.
The acknowledgment section purported to show a notarization months before Lily was born.
I had never given Mark a power of attorney.
I had never met the named notary.
Colin said Mark had told him my father’s estate was still being settled.
He claimed he was acting on behalf of the family.
“My father died several years ago,” I said.
“The estate was completed. I held title in my own name.”
Colin stared at his notes.
“He said you were too ill to handle paperwork.”
“I was pregnant.”
He lowered his eyes.
Elaine asked how much money had changed hands.
Colin had wired an earnest-money amount to an escrow service selected by Mark.
The amount was substantial enough that he was worried.
Elaine advised him to involve his own attorney and bank immediately.
Nobody on the call promised that the money could be recovered.
We needed the wire instructions and the actual account holder.
I watched Colin gather the papers.
He looked embarrassed.
“I believed him,” he said.
“I did too,” I replied.
I meant something different.
The call ended.
After the meeting, Colin called his own attorney from the parking lot.
He sounded embarrassed when he later left a message with Elaine.
He had considered himself careful with investments.
He had checked the property photographs and spoken to Mark several times.
He had not independently verified the chain of title before sending money.
I did not celebrate his mistake.
He was another person who had trusted Mark's confidence.
The difference was that he could choose never to see Mark again.
I had a daughter with him.
That thought followed me into the pediatrician's office the next day.
Lily cried when her clothes were removed for weighing.
I kissed her forehead and whispered nonsense until she settled.
The nurse asked whether she had been sleeping on her back in an appropriate sleep space.
I answered carefully.
I asked about a rash beneath her chin.
For fifteen minutes, I was simply a mother learning the practical details of a newborn.
I felt better leaving with answers I could use.
At home, I opened a message from Mark.
He said he'd been trying to provide us with a better life.
I read the line and remembered the baby formula receipt in my purse.
I typed a reply.
Providing a better life does not mean making me afraid of losing my home.
The investigator asked whether I had ever signed documents electronically for Mark.
I explained that I had signed routine household forms in the past.
I also explained that I had not authorized the disputed property transfer.
He asked for examples of my authentic signature.
Elaine helped provide appropriate records.
Nobody expected me to judge the technical evidence myself.
After the interview, I felt drained.
I made tea and stared at a dish towel hanging crookedly from the oven handle.
I remembered how Mark used to straighten it each night.
A small, fussy habit.
I had once found it endearing.
Now I wondered why small domestic memories still moved me.
The answer wasn't complicated.
Seven years contained more than one story.
I could remember the pleasant parts without returning to the dangerous pattern of excuses.
I folded the towel properly, then unfolded it to wipe the counter.
Lily began to cry.
I left the kitchen and went to her.
Then I deleted it.
The message would only invite another argument.
Instead I sent his communication to Benjamin and put down the phone.
Nora had arranged for groceries to be delivered.
There were bananas, oatmeal, chicken, and a container of vegetable soup.
A handwritten note sat on top.
You are allowed to need things.
I pinned the note to the refrigerator.
Later, when Lily fell asleep, I sat at the little kitchen table and made a list of what I knew for certain.
I owned the proceeds of the completed sale, subject to the proper financial accounting.
The Shahs owned the house under the recorded deed.
Mark had presented a document bearing a signature I denied making.
Colin had transferred money because of representations Mark made.
I did not know who had created every disputed paper or where every dollar had gone.
I underlined that last sentence.
Certainty would have to come from the investigation, not my fear.
Elaine stayed on with me.
“Do I report this?” I asked.
“We should preserve the documents and make an informed report,” she said.
Colin's situation made me consider the people who worked for Mark.
I knew the names of two assistants from holiday parties.
I wondered whether their paychecks had been delayed.
I almost called one of them.
Then I stopped.
I had no reason to pull employees into private speculation.
Elaine could obtain relevant records through lawful means.
I could let other people choose whether and how to speak.
One afternoon, I ran into a former client of Mark's at a pharmacy.
He recognized me immediately.
“How's the baby?”
I showed him a photograph.
He congratulated me.
Then he lowered his voice.
“Is Mark doing all right?”
I said I didn't know the details of his current work.
The man hesitated.
“He hasn't returned a few messages.”
“I'm sorry. You'll need to contact him directly.”
I didn't try to interpret the unfinished sentence.
We said goodbye near the checkout.
Outside, I sat in the car and felt the familiar urge to fix things.
I wanted to call Mark and tell him someone was waiting.
I wanted to tell him to pay his bills, return his calls, stop making promises he couldn't keep.
For seven years, I had done versions of that work.
I'd reminded him of birthdays.
I'd smoothed over rude remarks.
I'd apologized to contractors when he canceled appointments.
He had called me organized.
I was beginning to see how often that meant cleaning up consequences he preferred not to face.
I started the car.
Then I turned it off again.
I needed a moment before driving.
I watched a mother cross the parking lot holding her child's hand.
The child pointed at a red balloon tied outside a store.
The mother looked up and smiled.
Their small exchange helped pull me out of the spiral.
I drove home without calling Mark.
He could answer his own messages.
She explained the difference between a civil dispute over a failed deal and allegations involving fabricated signatures or false acknowledgments.
Investigators would determine whether criminal conduct could be proved.
I would not control that process.
I thanked her.
Then Lily woke.
I picked her up and carried her into the kitchen.
The bottle warmer clicked off.
I could not stop thinking about the phrase too ill to handle paperwork.
Mark had used my pregnancy as a reason for other people to ignore me.
For months, he had told friends I was emotional.
He had called me forgetful when I challenged unexpected expenses.
Now a man I had never met believed I had signed away my authority.
That evening I remembered a small incident.
At a prenatal appointment, Mark had offered to complete my intake paperwork.
He had asked me to sign a blank page attached to a clipboard.
I refused.
He said I was being difficult.
I wrote the memory down, careful to distinguish it from proof.
Elaine had taught me that memory mattered, but documents mattered too.
I would not let fear turn suspicions into facts.
Just before dinner, a message arrived from Mark.
We can still fix this if you stop telling everyone I forged things.
I read it twice.
I had never used the word forged in a message to him.
I saved the screenshot.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Mark Wanted a Private Conversation but Would Not Explain Where the Escrow Money Had Gone
The Two Hundred Dollars Mark Offered Me While Our Newborn Daughter Slept Against My Chest
Part 5 of 16
