“No,” I replied. “Pathetic was forging a power of attorney with the wrong middle initial.”
Denise opened her folder. Her voice stayed calm, sharp, merciless.
“The property at 114 Maple Ridge belongs to the Whitaker Family Trust. Any attempted transfer without trustee approval is invalid. The supposed buyer is directly connected to Mr. Victor Hale through business records. The vehicle transfer relied on a falsified medical incapacity report. The attempted bank withdrawal was captured on surveillance footage. And Mrs. Whitaker-Hale’s signature appears on three fraudulent documents.”
Whispers spread across the ballroom. Phones lifted into the air.
Clara turned toward Victor. “You told me it was legal.”
Victor hissed, “Shut up.”
That was when she finally understood. Not that she betrayed me. Not yet. She only understood that Victor had used her as the signature, the mask, the daughter who could get close enough to stab.
Detective Morales stepped toward them. “Victor Hale, you are under arrest for fraud, conspiracy, identity theft, and financial exploitation of a vulnerable adult.”
Victor exploded.
“Vulnerable?” he shouted, pointing at me. “That old parasite manipulated everything! Clara deserved that house!”
I rolled closer.
“Victor,” I said, “that house was purchased by my wife before you ever learned how to fake a smile. Her name protects it. Her trust protects it. And today, her daughter lost every claim to it.”
Clara stumbled backward. “What?”
Denise handed her a single sheet of paper.
