Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE OF CARDSWe rushed out of the hospital tower and drove straight to the Franklin County Recorder's Office. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
How could Derek take out a $200,000 mortgage on a house that was entirely in my name?
Inside the county records archive, Denise Harper pulled the real estate transfer deeds for my property on Elmwood Avenue. As she flipped through the stamped pages under the fluorescent lights, her brow furrowed deep with concern.
"Claire," Denise said, her voice dropping to a serious whisper. "Look at the notary signature on the secondary mortgage deed dated eight months ago."
I leaned over the counter. There, at the bottom of the page, was my signature—or what looked remarkably like it—alongside a red state notary seal.
"I never signed this!" I gasped. "I was working a double shift at the hospital on October 14th! I wasn't anywhere near a bank!"
"Look at the notary name, Claire," Dad pointed out, pointing a thick finger at the bottom left stamp.
The notary of record was Samantha Vance.
"Dr. Vance’s wife..." I whispered, the horrifying puzzle pieces snapping together into a nightmare. "It was all coordinated. Derek wasn't just unemployed and lazy... he was actively working with them from the beginning!"
"It’s identity theft and document forgery on a massive scale," Denise said, pulling out her mobile phone. "Derek forged your signature, had the hospital COO’s wife notarize the fraudulent loan, took the $200,000 cash payout from a private predatory lender, and funneled it straight into their casino laundering account. And because the loan was secured against your house, the lender has initiated an expedited judicial foreclosure."
"How long do we have?" I asked, tears finally stinging my eyes. "When do they take the house?"
"The foreclosure sale notice was posted three weeks ago," Denise revealed, looking at the court filings. "Because Derek intercepted all the certified mail at your house, you missed the hearing. The county sheriff is scheduled to execute the eviction writ today at 2:00 PM."
I checked my watch. It was 1:15 PM.
"Lily’s things..." I panicked. "All her toys, her clothes, her birth certificate, my mother’s jewelry... everything is still inside that house!"
"Get in the truck," Dad commanded, his voice deadly serious as he grabbed his coat. "We have forty-five minutes."
We tore through the city traffic, the rain pouring harder against the glass. When we turned onto Elmwood Avenue at 1:48 PM, my stomach dropped into a abyss.
Parked on the curb outside my home was a massive yellow moving truck.
Two large men were carrying furniture out of my front door—my couch, my dining chairs, my grandmother’s vintage oak sideboard.
And standing on the front lawn, holding a clip board and directing the movers with an arrogant smirk on his face, was Derek.
Beside him sat a sleek, brand-new $80,000 luxury sports car with dealer plates.
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When he saw my dad’s truck pull into the driveway, Derek didn't run. He smoothed his designer jacket, turned toward us, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"You're too late, Claire," Derek called out over the sound of the rain. "The bank owns this property now. Everything inside is legally abandoned asset inventory. And I’m the court-appointed liquidator."
