THE NEXT MORNING, MY SON DEMANDED TO KNOW WHY HIS CARDS STOPPED WORKING—THEN AN INVESTIGATOR KNOCKED ON MY DOOR.
The morning after my 70th birthday, Louis slammed on my bedroom door.
“Dad! What did you do to the cards?”
I opened the door calmly.
His cards were being declined.
Carla was furious too.
I walked downstairs and placed a folder on the table.
“Four years. Nearly $60,000.”
Rent. Bills. Food. Car payments. Shopping.
Everything I had paid for them.
Then I showed them a suspicious $4,800 payment to a property company I had never authorized.
Louis suddenly went pale.
The payment was connected to documents filed using my personal information—documents involving my house.
Before he could explain, someone knocked.
A woman in a gray suit stood outside.
“I’m investigating a suspected fraudulent property transfer involving this residence.”
Carla immediately tried to run.
Louis just stared at the investigator.
Then he whispered:
“Dad… Carla told me you had already signed it.”