that someone might have submitted an unauthorized document concerning my building.
I arrived with my father’s deed, Ian’s lease, photographs of the suspicious paperwork, bank statements, and a list of every call and message received since Thanksgiving.
Rachel was in her early fifties, with silver-framed glasses and the patient expression of someone accustomed to sorting through other people’s disastrous decisions.
She examined the photograph first.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize anyone to negotiate a sale?”
“Absolutely not.”
She turned the page toward me.
“It appears to be a preliminary authorization.
It doesn’t transfer ownership.
But someone may have used it to represent that you consented to a sale.
We need the original document and the complete transaction file.”
“Can Ian sell the building without me?”
“Not simply because he’s your husband or because his company rents it.
Property division in a divorce can be complicated, but he can’t independently execute a sale of your separately titled property.
We need to make your position clear before anyone proceeds.”
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt something resembling relief.
Rachel helped me draft a written notice rejecting any purported authorization and instructing the parties involved not to rely on documents supposedly signed by me without independent verification.
Then she contacted the real estate broker named on the photographed paperwork.
Within an hour, we learned enough to understand why my phone hadn’t stopped ringing.
Ian had spent months discussing a redevelopment project involving my father’s building.
His proposed partner was Sloane Mercer, an interior designer who wanted to open a combined design showroom and renovation studio.
Sloane was also the woman he’d been having an affair with.
The proposed sale was supposed to provide Ian’s company with money to settle outstanding business obligations while giving the partnership control over the property.
A meeting had been arranged for Monday, when everyone expected to negotiate and sign final documents.
Ian had assured the broker that I was on board.
He had even supplied a document bearing my signature.
The problem was that I hadn’t agreed to any of it.
Rachel obtained a copy of the preliminary transaction packet after the broker contacted the buyer’s attorney.
The signature looked familiar because it had been copied from an estimate I approved for repairs to the building’s heating system two years earlier.
A tiny break in the final letter of my surname appeared in both documents.
I had never noticed it before.
Rachel did.
She placed the pages beside each other.
“This is something a document examiner could evaluate,” she said.
“Preserve both versions.”
I stared at my name.
Ian hadn’t merely taken my marriage for granted.
He had apparently treated my signature as another household resource he was entitled to use.
Then Rachel found something else.
Sloane had advanced eighty-five thousand dollars to Ellis Homeworks under a business loan agreement, anticipating that the property transaction would support the redevelopment project.
The agreement identified Ian’s company as the borrower and included Ian’s personal guarantee.
It did not make me responsible for repayment.
But Ian had already spent most of the money.
Some had covered overdue vendor invoices.
Some had paid business payroll.
A substantial amount had gone toward a rental apartment downtown.
An apartment I knew nothing about.
Rachel looked at me over
