There was no secret buyer and no completed sale. There was a disputed signature, a trail of emails, and a financial mess my sister and her husband couldn’t hide anymore.
The district attorney’s office opened an investigation into the forged authorization. David told me forgery of a document like that is taken seriously in New York, and that the outcome would be up to the prosecutors.
Natalie called me on Saturday afternoon from her car. She sounded younger than she had on Thanksgiving. She sounded like the little sister who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.
“I gave David the original email Terrence sent me,” she said. “The one where he asked for your signature. And the copy of your contract I gave him.”
“Good.”
“I went to the police station in White Plains on Thursday and gave a statement. I told them everything. I told them I gave Terrence your signature and that I knew the house was yours.”
I was quiet for a moment. “That took courage, Natalie.”
“I asked David what I need to do to make it right.”
“He’ll tell you.”
She took an uneven breath.
“I never wanted Leo sent outside, Nicole. I swear. I didn’t know Dad was going to do that.”
“I believe you didn’t plan that part,” I said. “But you stood there and watched it happen. And you smiled.”
She started apologizing. She cried, and she kept apologizing.
I let her finish.
It was the first time in our entire lives that Natalie apologized without expecting me to comfort her afterward.
