I called the securities firm.
— This is Emily Carter, I said firmly. I am the trustee. I have not authorized any sales.
After a few seconds of typing, the representative replied:
"We reported the signature. It doesn't match the specimen we have in our files. The notary's commission couldn't be verified. The funds are still frozen in the escrow account."
"Freeze everything," I ordered.
— It's already been done. We'll need an official fraud report and your lawyer.
Nana's lawyer, Denise Holloway, responded immediately. Her voice hardened when I explained everything.
"Send me everything. I'll file a temporary restraining order and a notice of litigation on the property right away. That will freeze the title immediately."
I didn't understand all the legal terms yet, but I understood the essentials: to stop them.
The scanned document showed my name, crudely falsified at the bottom of the page. The notary's stamp indicated Clark County, Nevada.
The chalet, however, was located in California.
A careless mistake. A mistake of greed.
I contacted the county registry office's fraud squad and the sheriff's department. The officer remained calm.
"Real estate fraud committed by relatives happens more often than you think. Send us all the documentation."
I transferred the selfie of my father taken at the airport — you could even make out the flight information behind him.
At 3:17 a.m., a new email arrived from the securities firm:
Transfer attempt refused. Escrow account remains blocked.
A few minutes later, my father called me.
— Why is the transfer delayed? he asked in a falsely relaxed tone.
I didn't reply. Instead, I sent him a simple message:
You sold a house that doesn't belong to you.
In the morning, Denise confirmed the next steps: a temporary restraining order was granted. A notice of dispute was filed. The authorities were notified.
