Chapter 5: What Gerald Fitch Knew
Paula arrived in eighteen minutes.
David was with her, still in the jacket he wore to his Saturday golf game, phone already in hand.
He looked at the documents on the kitchen table, asked one question — "Has anyone touched anything since you found it?" — and when I said only to photograph it, he nodded and started making calls from the hallway.
Paula sat next to Mom and held her hand without saying anything.
That was the right thing to do.
Paula had always known when to be quiet.
Diane had not left.
She was seated at the far end of the table with her purse in her lap — David had told her not to take anything from the table, and she had looked at him with the expression of someone who had just realized the room had changed shape around her.
Ryan was standing near the window.
He hadn't spoken since I'd mentioned Gerald Fitch.
David came back in and sat down across from Diane.
He set his phone face-up on the table between them.
"Mrs.
Calloway," he said.
"I want to give you the opportunity to explain the notebook before I involve anyone else."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Diane said.
"Gerald Fitch is a licensed notary in this county.
His name appears seven times in the notebook you were carrying.
The last entry is dated eleven days ago." David turned the notebook to face her.
"That entry includes a figure, a date, and the words final transfer.
Would you like to explain that?"
Diane's chin lifted.
"I'd like to speak with my own attorney."
"That's your right," David said.
"But I want you to understand something first.
The document bearing Margaret's forged signature — if Gerald Fitch notarized it, he committed a serious crjme.
And the person who paid him to do it committed a more serious one.
The question I'm giving you the chance to answer right now is whether you were directing him, or whether someone else was."
A long pause.
"Ryan came to me," Diane said finally.
"He asked me to help him manage the transition.
He said he needed the properties clear before he could move forward with Carla.
I made some calls.
I arranged some things.
I didn't forge anything personally."
"Mom." Ryan's voice was sharp.
"Stop talking."
"She's already talking," David said calmly.
"Mrs.
Calloway, when you say you arranged some things — did that include contacting Gerald Fitch and asking him to notarize a document bearing a signature that was not Margaret's?"
Diane's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"I need water," she said.
"There's a glass behind you," Paula said, and didn't move to get it.
Diane turned, saw the glass, and turned back.
She didn't reach for it.
"I made one phone call," she said.
"Gerald knew what was needed.
He's done work for our family before.
I didn't tell him to do anything illegal.
I told him the signature had been given verbally and that the paperwork was a formality."
"And he believed that."
"He didn't ask questions."
"Because you paid him not to."
Diane said nothing.
Mom spoke from her end of the table, her voice quiet and precise.
"I never gave verbal permission.
I never spoke to anyone about that house.
I didn't know a transfer document existed until I found it in Ryan's desk."
Diane looked at her.
"Margaret, you're an old woman who forgets things.
That's not an accusation, it's just—"
"I have not forgotten a single thing in this conversation," Mom said.
"And I would like you to stop speaking to me as though I have."
The room went quiet.
David picked up his phone.
"I'm going to call the county recorder's office on Monday to flag both transfers.
I'm also going to contact Gerald Fitch directly.
If he cooperates, the charges against him may be reduced.
If he doesn't—" He looked at Diane.
"The person who hired him carries the full weight."
Ryan pushed off from the window.
"This is out of control.
Nobody needs to call anyone.
I'll reverse the transfers.
Both of them.
I'll call Carla tonight and explain the situation.
We can settle this privately."
"The time for settling this privately," I said, "was before you put a stranger in my father's apartment."
He flinched.
"She's been sleeping in his bedroom," I said.
"In the room where he kept his books.
Where I stayed the week after his funeral because I couldn't be alone." My voice didn't break.
I was surprised by that.
"You gave that room to someone else and you didn't tell me."
Ryan opened his mouth.
"Don't apologize," I said.
"Not right now.
I don't want it right now."
He closed his mouth.
David stood and gathered the documents carefully into a folder he'd brought from his bag.
"I'll need to take these.
I'll give you a receipt."
"Take the second phone too," I said.
He looked at it.
"Do you know whose it is?"
"No.
But I think Gerald Fitch might."
David bagged the phone separately.
Diane watched him do it with the expression of someone watching a controlled demolition — knowing it was coming, unable to stop it, calculating what would still be standing when the dust cleared.
May you like
Not enough, I thought.
Not nearly enough.
