Chapter 10 - The House Dorothia Could Lose
Dorothia had always presented herself as financially untouchable.
Newton house.
Formal dining room.
Silver.
Custom curtains.
Vacations.
Her widow’s pension.
The truth was less impressive.
She owned the house, but only after taking a home equity line three years earlier to help Collapy.
Balance:
$181,000.
She had investment savings.
About $230,000.
Much of it pledged against the bridge loan.
If Bay State enforced aggressively, Dorothia would not be homeless.
But she could lose investments and face pressure to sell or refinance the house.
That explained urgency.
It did not excuse fraud.
Dad said:
“She was trying to save her daughter.”
I looked at him.
“That sounds dangerously sympathetic.”
“Explanation isn’t sympathy.”
He smiled slightly.
I had apparently inherited the distinction habit from him.
Then Dad admitted something.
“Thatcher asked me about your condo before the wedding.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“Two months ago.”
“What did he ask?”
“How much equity you had.”
“And you told him?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought he was planning to buy a house with you.”
Fair.
“What exactly did he say?”
Dad thought.
“He asked if you still owed much.”
“Anything else?”
“He asked whether title was just yours.”
I closed eyes.
“Dad.”
“I know.”
“Did he ask about fraud alert?”
That changed his face.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“He asked why I still got property notifications.”
“What did you say?”
“That we set it up when you bought.”
“Did you tell him how to remove you?”
“No.”
Good.
That explained something.
Thatcher knew father might see recording.
Maybe he thought title alert would arrive the next day, after money moved.
The mortgage recorded at 8:53.
Dad’s alert came almost instantly because service was faster than Thatcher expected.
A technical detail ruined a planned theft.
At 11:30 that night, Collapy called.
She sounded frightened.
“Bay State contacted me.”
“So?”
“They’re coming after company.”
“That is your issue.”
“I know.”
“Then why call?”
“Thatcher says we should all say you agreed.”
My body went cold.
“Who is all?”
“Me. Mom.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He said if I don’t, he’ll tell police the fake notary was my idea.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“Do you know whose idea?”
Silence.
“Collapy.”
“Mom gave him the old mortgage packet.”
“That I know.”
“No. She did more.”
“What?”
Collapy took a breath.
“Mom told him which page had Marian’s stamp.”
There.
Dorothia’s role became darker.
“She knew what he was copying?”
“I think so.”
“Think or know?”
“I heard her say, ‘Use Marian’s. She’s dead. Nobody can call her.’”
I stopped breathing.
“Did you tell Detective Morgan?”
“Not yet.”
“Do that before you call me again.”
I hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, Detective Morgan texted:
Collapy just requested interview.
The family alliance was breaking.
May you like
Not because conscience suddenly arrived.
Because consequences finally had individual names.
