…having you sign a notarized ‘Christmas card’ at her house on December 24th. The notary is already booked.”
The bank manager, Mr. Alvarez, showed me a note in the file. My daughter-in-law, Karen, had told the loan officer that I was “elderly and anxious about paperwork” and that she’d get my final signature “in a relaxed family setting.” The document was a deed of trust. My signature on it would have made the $200,000 loan legal.
“We’re cancelling the application,” Mr. Alvarez said. “The earlier forms were signed under false pretenses. I’m also flagging your account so no one can apply for credit against your house again without you being here in person.”
On Christmas Eve, I went to Karen’s house as planned. My son, Paul, opened the door. A woman with a notary stamp was sitting in the living room, sipping eggnog.
After dinner, Karen handed me a large card and a pen. “Just sign here for the grandkids, Mom.”
I opened the card. Inside, folded neatly, was the deed of trust.
I handed it to the notary and asked her if she knew what it was. She read it, went pale and put her stamp back in her purse.
Paul didn’t know. He’d thought the “insurance papers” were real. That night, he asked his wife why there was a loan against his mother’s house. She didn’t have a good answer.
The bank reported the attempted fraud. Karen’s “business” never opened. My house is still paid off. It has been for twenty years, and it will be for the rest of my life.
