Chapter 7
By ten o'clock that evening, the city lights outside the thirtieth-floor windows twinkled like fallen stars against the black velvet of the night sky. Arthur was resting comfortably in the guest suite down the hall, his breathing soft and regular under the care of a night nurse Julian had hired. Julian himself hadn't slept; he was still sitting at the glass dining table, his laptop screen illuminating his tired face in the dark room.
He had traced the mobile notary through a digital timestamp embedded in the metadata of the PDF copy David had emailed to Sarah. The notary’s name was Ronald Vance—no relation, thankfully—operating a small, struggling mobile document service out of a strip mall twenty miles north of the city.
Julian picked up his phone, tapped out a direct dial number, and put it on speaker as it rang. It took four rings before a raspy, defensive voice answered.
"Vance Mobile Services. If this isn't an emergency appointment, call back during regular business hours."
"Ronald Vance?" Julian asked, his voice adopting the polished, authoritative tone he usually reserved for hostile corporate takeovers.
"Yeah, that’s me. Who’s asking?"
"My name is Julian Vance. I’m the son of Arthur Vance, the man you visited on Tuesday afternoon to notarize an amendment to his living trust."
There was a sudden, heavy silence on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of rustling paper. When Ronald spoke again, his voice had lost its defensive edge, replaced by a jittery, nervous cadence. "Oh. Right. The gentleman in the suburbs. Look, mister, my paperwork was completely in order. I checked identification, I verified signatures—"
"Did you verify mental competency, Ronald?" Julian interrupted, his tone dropping into a chilling register. "Did you perform the mandatory cognitive screening required by state law for elderly clients signing away real property?"
"He... he seemed to know his name," Ronald stammered, the lie transparent even over the phone line.
"My father has a medically documented neurocognitive disorder," Julian said smoothly, bluffing slightly based on the preliminary medical notes, though he knew the timeline supported it. "He was locked in an uninsulated garage without food or proper medical care for two days prior to your visit. He was under severe duress, exhibiting profound disorientation, and you slapped a notary seal on a fraudulent document to make a quick fifty-buck fee."
May you like
"Wait a minute, I didn't know anything about a garage!" Ronald shouted, panic bleeding clearly into his voice now. "The nephew—the guy in the maroon shirt—he told me the old man preferred to sign out there because of remodeling work inside the main house! He told me everything was consensual!"
Julian smiled grimly in the dark room. The amateurish cover story was already falling apart. "The nephew lied to you, Ronald, which makes you an accessory to felony financial fraud and elder exploitation. Now, you have two choices. You can cooperate with my legal team, sign an affidavit stating that you failed to perform proper due diligence and that the client was visibly distressed, or you can spend the next five years defending your notary license and your personal freedom in federal court."
