Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO WORE MY RING
The notary's office was located in a small brick building downtown.
Her name was Patricia Miller.
She was seventy-two years old and had been a licensed notary for nearly four decades.
When she saw me, she looked startled.
“You're Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
She studied my face.
Then she shook her head.
“No.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
“You're not the woman who came to my office.”
Caroline placed the property document on the table.
“Mrs. Miller, this is the document.”
Patricia examined it.
“Yes.”
“You notarized it?”
“Yes.”
“And you are certain the woman who signed it wasn't Rebecca?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
Patricia looked at me.
“Because I remember thinking she was strangely nervous.”
“What did she look like?”
“Your height.”
“Hair?”
“Brown.”
“Age?”
“Early forties.”
I felt a chill.
“Anything else?”
“She wore a wedding ring.”
I looked at my own hand.
Patricia continued.
“But there was something unusual.”
“What?”
“The ring had a small scratch across the stone.”
My heart stopped.
I knew that scratch.
My wedding ring had been damaged years earlier when I dropped it while repairing a zipper at the shop.
The scratch was barely visible.
But it was there.
Patricia said, “I remember because she kept touching it.”
Caroline asked, “Did she say anything?”
Patricia nodded.
“She asked whether the transfer would be permanent.”
I swallowed.
“What did you tell her?”
“That once properly executed and recorded, it could affect ownership.”
“And she signed anyway?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the document.
Someone had impersonated me.
Someone who knew my appearance.
Someone who had access to my ring.
Someone who knew enough about my life to make the deception convincing.
There were very few possibilities.
Caroline saw the realization on my face.
“Who had access to your wedding ring?”
I looked down.
“Brandon.”
The answer was immediate.
But it didn't make sense.
He couldn't wear it.
It was on my hand every day.
Unless...
I remembered the one week six months earlier when I had left my ring at home while working.
I had cut my finger while sewing.
The ring had become uncomfortable, so I had placed it in a jewelry box.
Brandon had been home.
So had his mother.
So had Brenda.
I suddenly felt sick.
The deception could have been planned during that week.
But why?
Caroline asked the question I had been afraid of.
“Could Brenda have done it?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know.”
“Could she have found someone who resembles you?”
“I don't know.”
We left the office.
Outside, I called Brandon.
He answered after several rings.
“What?”
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Did you ever give anyone access to my jewelry?”
Silence.
Then:
“Why are you asking?”
“Answer me.”
“I don't know.”
“Brandon.”
“I said I don't know.”
“You do know.”
His voice became defensive.
“Rebecca, what is this?”
“Who signed the property document?”
“What property document?”
“The one pretending to be me.”
Silence.
Long silence.
Then he said, “You should stop.”
My heart began pounding.
“Stop what?”
“Digging.”
“Why?”
“Because you're making this worse.”
“For whom?”
He didn't answer.
I whispered, “For you?”
He hung up.
I stood in the parking lot staring at my phone.
Daniel walked toward me.
“What happened?”
“He told me to stop.”
Daniel's expression hardened.
“Then keep digging.”
That afternoon, Caroline obtained a temporary legal order preventing any transfer or sale of the disputed property while the documents were investigated.
It wasn't a victory.
But it gave me time.
More importantly, it gave me breathing room.
Then we discovered something else.
The house had been refinanced twice.
Both times, documents had been filed using my signature.
I had never known.
Caroline stared at the paperwork.
“This is much bigger than the bedroom.”
“I know.”
“These loans could have put the property at risk.”
“Could Brandon have taken the money?”
“We need to find out.”
Bank records showed deposits into an account belonging to a small construction company.
The company was owned by someone named Gregory Palmer.
Brandon's cousin.
Daniel leaned over the table.
“There's your connection.”
Caroline nodded.
“Maybe.”
The word didn't comfort me.
That night, Hannah asked me a question.
“Mom, are we going to lose everything?”
I sat beside her.
“No.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“So why did you say it?”
“Because I don't want fear deciding what happens next.”
She was quiet.
Then she said, “Dad scared me.”
My heart broke.
“I know.”
“When he hit you, I thought he was going to hurt you again.”
“He won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I won't be alone this time.”
Hannah leaned against me.
“Are you going to divorce him?”
I took a long breath.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“Good.”
It was the first time I had heard relief in my daughter's voice when she talked about her father.
The next morning, we received a call from Patricia Miller.
“I remembered something.”
Caroline immediately put her on speaker.
“What?”
“The woman who signed the document wasn't alone.”
My heart stopped.
“Who was with her?”
“A man.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Patricia hesitated.
Then she said the name.
“Brandon Palmer.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The connection.
But Patricia wasn't finished.
“He waited outside while she signed.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Patricia's voice became quiet.
“He told me his wife had authorized the transfer.”
I felt my entire body go cold.
He had planned it.
He had lied.
He had used someone to impersonate me.
And he had apparently been doing it long before he ever slapped me.
But we still didn't know why.
Until Daniel found the answer.
The construction company had been losing money.
Badly.
Brandon had accumulated debts.
Gambling debts.
Credit card debt.
Personal loans.
He had borrowed against the property because he was desperate.
If creditors came after him, he needed the house.
The land.
Everything.
My father had unknowingly given me the one thing Brandon needed most.
And Brandon had spent eighteen years finding a way to take it.
Then Caroline received an email.
A copy of a legal filing had been submitted that morning.
Brandon was attempting to claim that I had abandoned the marital property and that he had paid for its maintenance.
But attached to the filing was a photograph.
The photograph showed me signing another document.
Except it wasn't me.
It was the same woman.
May you like
And this time, she was sitting inside our house.
Wearing my wedding ring.
