She asked me to bring the envelope to her office immediately. I did, and she opened it herself. Inside was a copy of the documents I’d signed that morning — but there was another page tucked behind them, one I had never seen before. It was a letter from the bank confirming that several of the documents had been prepared months earlier.
My attorney read it twice, then asked me whether my husband had ever given me a copy of anything I’d signed. I said no. She turned the letter toward me and pointed to the date at the bottom. It was dated three days before he had first told me we needed to “update some paperwork.” Then she showed me the signature page.
It wasn’t mine.
The signature looked close enough that I’d never have noticed it without the comparison. But the bank had notarized it — and the notary’s name was someone I recognized. She had notarized my signature while I was at work that day. My attorney picked up the phone and said, “We’re not calling your husband. We’re calling the notary.”
