It was a loan application to a hard-money lender in San Jose. Borrower: Brett Daniels. Collateral: 42 Oak Street.
My address.
Halfway down the second page was my signature.
Except it was not my signature.
It was close enough to fool someone glancing over a stack of documents at the end of a long day. The V was too angular. The loop of the l in Valerie was too wide. He had practiced. That part sickened me most. He had not forged me in a hurry. He had studied me.
“He tried to use the house?” My voice sounded distant again.
“He applied for a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bridge loan,” Mrs. Higgins said. “It has not funded. Underwriting flagged the title issue because he is not on the deed. Someone is waiting on a joint tenancy transfer or spousal recording.”
“That’s why he needed me to sign something when he got back.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the signature until the letters blurred.
Mrs. Higgins leaned forward. “Listen carefully, Valerie. You are sole owner of this property. Nothing transfers without your executed deed. His application constitutes attempted fraud. The forged signature escalates matters. If you wish to pursue criminal action, we have a basis.”