Chapter 4: Gerald Fitch
I called my own lawyer from the hospital waiting room.
Frederick's temperature had come down by the time we arrived, and a nurse had taken him back for observation.
Amy was with him.
I had kissed her forehead and told her I'd be right outside, and she had looked at me with an expression I didn't have a word for — something between exhaustion and relief and a question she wasn't ready to ask yet.
I sat in a plastic chair near the window and dialed Daniel Reeves.
He answered on the second ring.
"Connor.
It's Friday night."
"I know.
I need you to listen."
I told him everything.
The folder.
The deed.
The forged signature.
Betsy's account of the family meeting.
The name Gerald Fitch.
Daniel was quiet for a long moment.
"You're sure Betsy will give a statement?"
"She already started.
She was talking to the officers when I left."
"Okay." His voice shifted into the tone I recognized from the two times I'd needed him before — focused, no warmth, just forward motion.
"Fitch is a problem.
He's been practicing for thirty years.
He has connections at the county recorder's office.
If he helped alter that deed, he didn't do it sloppily."
"Can it be proven?"
"Deed fraud leaves a trail if you know where to look.
The recorder's office keeps digital logs of every access and modification.
If someone pulled your file and made changes, there's a timestamp.
There's a user ID." A pause.
"I'm going to call someone tonight.
Don't touch anything in that house until I tell you it's clear."
"Understood."
"Connor.
Does your mother know you've spoken to a lawyer?"
"Not yet."
"Good.
Keep it that way."
I hung up and sat for a moment looking at the floor.
The waiting room was quiet.
A television mounted in the corner played a weather forecast with the sound off.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
*You are making a serious mistake.
Call this off now and we can resolve this as a family.
Push further and you will regret it.*
I read it twice.
Then I took a screenshot and forwarded it to Daniel with a single line: *Just received this.*
His reply came in under a minute.
*Save everything.
Don't respond.*
I set the phone face-down on my knee.
A door opened and Amy came out.
She looked steadier than she had in the car.
She sat down beside me and leaned her head against my shoulder without saying anything.
"How is he?" I asked.
"Sleeping.
They said his fever broke.
They want to keep him another hour for observation."
"Good."
She was quiet.
Then: "Connor, how long has she been planning this?"
I thought about what Betsy had told me.
Six months pregnant.
A family meeting I knew nothing about.
Gerald Fitch on the phone.
"A long time," I said.
Amy lifted her head and looked at me.
"How long?"
"Before Frederick was born."
She absorbed that.
Her jaw tightened, then released.
"She wanted to take him from me," Amy said.
Not a question.
"She was going to try."
Amy looked at the television.
The weather forecast had changed to a map of the coast.
"I knew something was wrong," she said quietly.
"Every time I tried to talk to you about her, I felt like I was the one being unreasonable.
Like I was imagining it."
"You weren't imagining it."
"I know that now." She laced her fingers through mine.
"What happens next?"
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Daniel Reeves.
"I just got off the phone with a contact at the recorder's office," he said.
"Connor, your deed was accessed and modified eleven months ago.
The access log shows a registered user account belonging to Gerald Fitch's firm."
Eleven months ago.
Two months before Frederick was born.
"Can you get documentation of that?"
"Already requested.
But there's something else." A pause.
"Fitch filed a secondary document the same day.
A power of attorney.
Connor, if that document is valid, your mother already has legal authority to act on your behalf in property matters."
The waiting room felt very small.
"Is it valid?"
"That depends on whether your signature on it is genuine."
I had never signed a power of attorney.
Not for my mother.
Not for anyone.
"It isn't," I said.
"Then we have two forgeries," Daniel said.
"And a thirty-year attorney who is now criminally exposed.
Which means he has every reason to cooperate — or every reason to disappear."
The line was quiet for a beat.
"Daniel.
My mother called someone right after Betsy agreed to talk.
I think she called Fitch."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
May you like
"I'll make a call," he said.
"Don't go back to that house tonight."
