She looked from one to the other.
“Your K is completely different,” she said. “And whoever did this was copying something. Look at the pressure. See how it’s heavier here, where they slowed down?”
“I see it.”
She kept reading.
“Forty-five thousand,” she said. “Transferred while you were deployed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned back in her chair. She took a breath and let it out slowly.
“All right. This is already bad,” she said. “Forgery. Theft. Probably identity theft. Misuse of a power of attorney against a deployed service member. Your father’s threat about your promotion could be something too, depending on how it plays out. And that’s all before we even get to the house.”
“The house is what I’m most worried about.”
“I know.” She reached for her phone. “Which is why I’m calling somebody who knows real estate better than I do. We work with a civilian attorney for cases like this. Give me five minutes.”
His name was Martin Dalton.
He was maybe sixty, with a gray mustache and a tweed jacket that looked like it had been through a few decades of courtrooms. He came in twenty minutes later carrying a briefcase with a broken latch, shook my hand, and sat down right next to Captain Morales without waiting to be asked.
“Show me,” he said.
He worked through the paperwork even faster than she had. Page after page. Every so often he’d grunt, or tap something with his pen, or say “Mm-hm” in a way that didn’t sound good for somebody.
He went through the bank statements. The power of attorney. Then he picked up the manila folder from my grandfather’s safe.
He took out the deed. He held it up to the light. He ran his thumb over the seal the same way I had.
