Chapter 8: What the Notary Knew
My attorney's name was Carol Vance.
She had handled my father's estate from the beginning and she had a way of speaking that was very quiet and very precise, like someone who had learned long ago that the quieter you spoke in a courtroom, the more carefully people listened.
She called me the morning after Evelyn's visit.
"I've been looking into the 2004 transfer document," she said.
"The notary listed on it is a man named Philip Greer.
He was a notary public in this county from 1998 to 2009, when his commission was revoked."
"Revoked for what?"
"Misconduct.
Specifically, notarizing documents without witnessing the actual signing.
Three separate complaints.
The commission board revoked his license and referred the matter for review, but no criminal charges were filed." A pause.
"He's still alive.
He's seventy-three.
He lives about forty minutes from here."
I sat down.
"Has anyone spoken to him?"
"Not yet.
But here's what's interesting." I could hear papers moving on her end.
"One of the three complaints against him in 2009 involved a property transfer document.
Different family, different property.
But the same pattern — a signature that didn't match, a document that appeared to have been signed in his presence but almost certainly wasn't." She paused again.
"The complainant in that case was a woman named Dorothy Marsh."
"Dr.
Marsh's mother?"
"Her aunt, actually.
She passed in 2015.
But the complaint is part of the public record." Carol's voice stayed level.
"I think if we approach Philip Greer carefully, he may be willing to talk.
A man whose license was already revoked, who is now seventy-three, who has nothing left to protect — he may decide that telling the truth costs him less than it once did."
"Do you think Evelyn paid him?"
"I think Evelyn found someone who was already willing to bend the rules and made it worth his while.
Whether there's a paper trail for that, I don't know yet." A brief pause.
"But I'd like to find out."
I stood at the window.
The morning was gray, the garden below still and quiet.
"Do what you need to do," I said.
"There's one more thing," Carol said.
"Evelyn's attorney filed the cognitive incapacity challenge yesterday.
Formally.
We have thirty days to respond."
"Dr.
Marsh is ready."
"I know.
I spoke with her this morning.
Her records are solid." A pause.
"But Evelyn's attorney has also subpoenaed Gerald.
They know he was a witness to the signing."
"Gerald knows what he saw."
"Yes.
But they'll try to rattle him.
I want to prepare him before he's deposed." Carol's voice was steady.
"Can you ask him to call my office today?"
"Yes."
I called Gerald immediately after hanging up.
He answered on the first ring, like he'd been waiting.
"They subpoenaed you," I said.
"I know.
Got the notice this morning." His voice was calm.
"I figured they would."
"My attorney wants to prepare you.
Will you call her today?"
"Already planned to." A pause.
"She should also know — Evelyn called my brother last night.
Offered him money.
A direct payment, in exchange for a statement saying your father seemed confused at a family gathering in 2022."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"Did he take it?"
"He told me about it instead of taking it," Gerald said.
"Make of that what you will.
But he's scared.
He's not going to volunteer anything.
He's just going to stay quiet."
"That's enough," I said.
"Quiet is enough."
After I hung up, I sat for a long time at the kitchen table.
Noah's cereal bowl was still in the drying rack.
His backpack hook by the door had a drawing taped above it — something he'd made at school, a house with a big tree and three figures standing in front of it.
He'd labeled them in his careful seven-year-old handwriting.
*Mommy.
Daddy.
Me.*
I looked at it for a while.
Then I picked up the phone and called Daniel.
He answered on the second ring.
"She went to Gerald's brother," I said.
"She offered him money for a statement."
Silence on his end.
"Daniel."
"I heard you," he said.
"I just—" A long pause.
"I keep thinking I know how far she'll go.
And then she goes further."
"I need to know if she's approached you," I said.
"Directly.
About the case."
"She's called me four times since the dinner," he said.
"I haven't answered."
"You need to talk to Carol Vance.
My attorney.
Today."
"I know." His voice was tired.
"I'll call her."
"Daniel." I stopped.
Chose the words carefully.
"Whatever happens with us — with you and me — I need you on the right side of this.
For Noah."
A long silence.
"I know," he said.
"I am."
I hung up and looked back at the drawing on the wall.
The house with the big tree.
The three figures.
Outside, a wind had come up and was moving through the garden, bending the tall grass at the edge of the lawn, and somewhere in the distance a door banged shut in the neighbor's yard.
Philip Greer, I thought.
Seventy-three years old.
May you like
Forty minutes away.
Somewhere in that man was the proof that would end this.
