Chapter 7 - The Stolen Deed
It was Mason. While everyone’s attention was fixed on my mother screaming in handcuffs, my cousin had grabbed a thick, brown leather folder from one of the patio tables. He was trying to slip out through the side gate—the exact gate I had sneaked in through earlier. He was moving fast, his head down, trying to blend into the shadows.
“Officer!” I yelled, pointing directly at the gate. “Stop him! He’s taking something from my property!” One of the younger officers pivoted instantly. He sprinted across the grass and tackled Mason just as his hand touched the latch of the gate. Mason hit the wood fence hard, the brown leather folder flying out of his hands and skidding across the patio stones, landing right at my feet.
“Get off me! I didn't do anything!” Mason yelled, struggling against the officer's weight. I slowly bent down and picked up the folder. My hands were shaking again, but this time, not from anger. It was from a cold, creeping realization of how close I had come to losing everything.
I unzipped the leather portfolio. I opened it. The patio was completely silent again, save for my mother’s heavy, labored breathing as the officers held her. I looked down at the documents inside. The top paper was a legal contract. It was a Transfer of Property deed. It detailed the transfer of ownership of my house—my four-bedroom, three-bathroom home in Nashville—from Connor Bradley to Teresa Bradley.
I flipped to the second page. There, at the bottom, was my signature. Only, I had never signed it. It was a flawless forgery. I flipped to the next document. It was a Power of Attorney form. Again, my forged signature sat at the bottom, granting my mother total control over my bank accounts, my assets, and my medical decisions. It had a notary stamp on it. A fake one, or perhaps one from a corrupt friend of hers.
I stood there, staring at the physical evidence of their treachery. The birthday party. The lavish spread. It wasn't a celebration. It was a distraction. They had planned to use the chaos of the party to slip these papers into my home office, file them away, and slowly siphon everything I owned until they could legally evict me and my wife. They thought I wouldn't notice. They thought Amy was too broken to fight back.
I slowly closed the folder. I looked at my mother. She was staring at the folder in my hands, her face completely drained of blood. The fire in her eyes was gone, replaced by the stark, terrifying realization that she was caught. “Forgery,” I said, my voice echoing off the stone walls of my house. “Fraud. Attempted grand larceny.”
May you like
I handed the folder to the sergeant. “Officer, I believe you’ll find enough evidence in here to put several people in federal prison.” The sergeant took the folder, flipping through it quickly. He whistled low under his breath. He looked at Mason, who was now being handcuffed by the fence. Then he looked at my mother. “Well, Mrs. Bradley,” the sergeant said grimly. “Looks like we’re adding a few more charges to your list today.”
As they marched my mother away, she didn't scream anymore. She just stared at the ground, utterly defeated. I stood on my patio, surrounded by the remnants of a fake celebration, and watched the police clear my property of the parasites that had infected my life.
