Chapter 3 - The Notary Who Never Met Me
Forgery feels strangely intimate.
A stranger stealing your money is frightening.
A child recreating the movement of your hand is different.
The signature on the affidavit was not perfect.
That almost made it worse.
Whoever produced it knew enough to imitate the small hesitation in the first letter of my surname.
I had developed that hesitation after arthritis stiffened my thumb.
Jason had watched me sign hundreds of birthday cards.
Checks.
School forms when he was young.
Loan papers when he started his first business.
He knew my hand.
The affidavit was notarized by a woman named Teresa Pike.
Dana contacted her the next morning.
Teresa did not deny the notarization.
She denied meeting me.
That changed the case immediately.
She worked part-time as a mobile notary and full-time in an insurance office.
Jason had contacted her through an online appointment platform.
He told her his elderly mother was homebound and had already signed documents but needed notarization urgently.
Teresa said she refused at first because the signer needed to appear personally.
Then Jason sent what looked like a remote notarization confirmation page from another provider and said Teresa was only certifying a copy.
She admitted she did not examine the process carefully enough.
She had stamped the affidavit.
Why?
Because Jason paid her a rush fee.
Was she criminally involved?
Unknown.
Negligent?
Probably.
She hired counsel immediately.
That was appropriate.
Dana obtained the digital file Jason sent her.
The supposed remote notarization confirmation was fake.
Not elaborate.
A copied template with altered names.
The document claimed I had completed identity verification at 7:42 a.m.
That morning I had been drinking coffee in my kitchen.
Alone.
No video call.
No verification.
No signature.
Then my bank called Claire.
Jason had attempted to schedule an appointment for the following week regarding “elder-account transition planning.”
He listed himself as my future co-owner.
The bank had not changed anything yet.
Good.
But again, he acted as though my consent already existed.
The branch manager had noted:
Son says mother is agreeable but may be confused during conversation.
My stomach turned.
He had been preparing the room before I entered it.
Dana asked permission to request my recent medical records relevant only to cognition.
I agreed.
My primary doctor had completed a routine cognitive screen five months earlier after I complained about forgetting names.
Result:
Normal for age.
No diagnosis of dementia.
No incapacity.
No recommendation for financial guardianship.
Even better, the doctor’s note said:
Patient demonstrates strong understanding of medication schedule, household finances, and estate documents.
Jason had attended that appointment.
Claire stared at the record.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew your doctor said you were fine.”
“Yes.”
She looked furious.
Then:
“Why would he keep telling me you were getting worse?”
The answer came later that afternoon.
My attorney, Samuel Price, arrived with old estate planning documents.
I had created a revocable trust eight years earlier.
The house was titled in the trust.
I was trustee.
Claire and Jason were equal successor trustees only if I died or became legally incapacitated under defined procedures.
Jason could not simply become owner by getting my signature on one sheet.
The document he brought attempted to transfer the house out of the trust first.
That required my informed authorization.
If successful, the property could then be deeded to him individually.
Why not wait for inheritance?
Because my trust did not leave the house solely to Jason.
It divided the estate equally between Claire and him.
Jason had apparently decided half was not enough.
Then Samuel pulled a recent county property search.
A developer had quietly assembled parcels along the road behind my neighborhood.
My lot sat at the corner of a potential access route.
The house I believed was worth perhaps $420,000 might be strategically valuable for a future commercial entrance.
A neighboring property had received an offer nearly twice market value.
Jason knew.
May you like
I did not.
Cliffhanger: Jason was not rushing because he feared Ruth would forget the house—he knew developers were circling the neighborhood and that her property might soon be worth far more than she realized.
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