I was rooted to the spot.

The man spotted me and came over.

"Ms. Jones?"

"Who...who are you?"

"Your creditor sent us." He fished out a document. "Here's the mortgage you signed for 150,000 dollars. It was due last month. Pay up now, and we're gone. If not..."

His gaze slid past me to the door. "We'll repossess the house."

I took the paper, my eyes scanning it quickly.

A mortgage contract.

The property: Greenfield Building 8, Unit 2.

The loan: 150,000 dollars.

My name was on the signature line.

However, that scribble? It was not mine.

"I didn't sign this."

"Whether you did or didn't, the notary has the record." He snatched the paper back. "Ms. Jones, you've got three days to get the cash. Otherwise..."

His smirk sent a shiver through me.

"You know what comes next."

They turned and left.

I just stood there at the door, a whole five minutes passing by.

I stepped inside, booted up my computer, and logged into the real estate registry's website. With a few keystrokes, I entered my home's details and hit the search button. The screen took its sweet time, 20 seconds to be exact, before it revealed the punch to my gut.

[Property Status: Mortgaged.]

[Mortgage Amount: 150,000 dollars.]

[Date of Registration: December 18, 2025.]

December 18th. That was only three days after my nephew's birthday bash. I had been stuck in a marathon meeting at work that day, from the crack of dawn until the last light, never setting foot near any registry, let alone signing any papers. Yet, there it was in black and white; my identity had been hijacked to put my house on the line.

I snatched my phone and called Darcy. "Mom, is my house really mortgaged?"

The line went dead for a beat. "How'd you find out?"

"Some folks showed up to claim it."

"Oh," she replied, her voice cool as ice. "Just tell them to swing by in a couple of months."

"Mom, that signature on the contract is mine, but I never signed it."

"You didn't sign, so I had to take matters into my own hands," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My grip on the phone tightened. "You had someone forge my signature?"

"It's not forging. I just helped you out with a little scribble," she said, as if she had done me a favor. "Besides, that house is going to be my grandson's eventually. What's the harm in using it a bit early?"

"Mom, we're talking about 150,000 dollars here."

"So? Jim will have it covered in two months."

"The contract says one month, and we're already past due."

Silence fell on her end for a heartbeat. "Past due? Just give it a few more days. I'll sort it out..."

"Mom, I just need a straight answer. Are you guys going to pay for it or not?"

"What's the rush? Jim's got it under control..."

"Do you even realize the crime you've committed by faking a signature?" I asked.

The line went completely quiet.

"Mom, you've got three days. Pay them and get that mortgage cleared in three days."

"How am I supposed to come up with 150,000 dollars?" she said.

"Let Jim handle it. It's his mess, isn't it?"

"He's strapped for cash right now..."

"Then, he can sell his car. His Audi, the one he bought for over 40,000 dollars. It'll cover some of the debt."

"That car is his..."

I cut her off. "Mom, you've got three days. If you don't fix this, I'm going to the cops."

"What?" Her voice spiked. "You're going to the cops?"

"Forgery, fraudulently mortgaging. It's all fraud."

"I'm your mother-in-law!"

"Lawbreakers go to jail, mother-in-law or not."

"Shirley, if you even think about calling the cops, you can kiss your marriage goodbye! I'll have Howard divorce you!"

"Think before you say something you'll regret."

"I don't need to think! You really think I won't..."

I ended the call.

Then, I played back the recording on my phone.

From the moment she said, "How did you find out?" until she said, "I'll have Howard divorce you."

I had caught every word.

I saved the recording carefully.

…

The next morning, I skipped work and headed straight for the County Clerk's office.

The clerk at the counter listened to my story and frowned.

"Ms. Jones, for a case like yours, you'll need to file a police report first. Once you have the receipt, we can pull up the original registration files."

"So, I have to go to the cops?" I asked.

"Yes. This involves possible signature forgery and identity theft, criminal matters we need to coordinate with the police on."

I nodded. "Got it. Anything else?"

She hesitated. "There's one more thing... Our system shows there might be more than just one mortgage on your property."

I was stunned. "What does that mean?"

"Besides the 150,000 dollars you already knew about, there was another private mortgage for 75,000 dollars. The registration date was December 23rd."

December 23rd.

I had been at work then, too.

Which meant...

The grand total was 225,000 dollars.

I let out a long breath.

"Alright, got it. Thanks."

I left the registration center and headed straight for the police station.

I filed a report.

I gave my statement.

Then, I handed over the evidence.

Three hours later, I was done.

The cops said they would get on it as soon as possible.

That afternoon, with the police receipt in hand, I went back to the County Clerk's office.

"Ms. Jones, we'll pull the original files in three to five business days."

"Fine."

I was almost out the door when the clerk stopped me.

"One more thing, Ms. Jones."

"Yeah?"

"We checked, and your property's mortgages are nearly maxing out its value. If these debts come due, the creditors may apply for compulsory enforcement."

"You're saying..."

"If you can't show these mortgages are fraudulent, your house may end up on the auction block."

The debt was for 225,000 dollars.

My place cost 270,000 dollars when I bought it.

The 90,000-dollar down payment was every penny my parents got from selling their old place.

Three years of mortgage payments down, and a hundred grand or so to go.

If it went to auction, any cash from that would go straight to the bank to cover that 225,000-dollar mortgage.

There might not be anything left for me.

My parents' nest egg, my three years of sweat… It was all for nothing.

I lingered at the entrance, lost in thought for what felt like hours.

Finally, I pulled out my phone and called Linda Collins.

"Linda, I need a favor."

"What's up?"

"Turns out my house has been put up for mortgage without my knowledge, twice, for a total of 225,000 dollars. I need to see the security footage from when the mortgages were made, and I need to track where the money has gone."

"Your house was mortgaged? By whom?"

"My mother-in-law."

The line went dead silent for a moment.

"Hold on; I'll see what I can find out."

I hung up and immediately texted my mom.

[Mom, we need to talk. I'll call you tonight.]

Her response came quickly.

[What's wrong?]

[I'll explain tonight.]

At 8:00 p.m., I settled into the couch and laid it all out for my mom.

225 thousand dollars.

Two mortgages.

The fact that our house was on the brink of auction.

I could hear my mom's breathing grow ragged over the phone.

"How could she?"

"Mom, I've already alerted the police."

"You did the right thing," she said, her voice quivering. "To do this behind your back... 225,000 dollars... And your dad and I… Our 90,000 dollars..."

"Mom, try to stay calm. I'm working on it."

"What's there to work on?" she asked, her voice laced with fury. "Report her, sue her, make her pay! How dare she lay a finger on your house?"

"Mom..."

"That 90,000 dollars was your father's and my life's work! Your dad's 63 and still breaking his back on construction sites! What gives her the right? What gives her the right to touch that money?"

"Mom, just breathe. I'm taking care of it..."

"How can we handle this?" My mom's voice broke. "Shirley, can you tell me, is there any hope for your house?"

I paused for a few heartbeats.

"Yes," I said firmly.

"I'll save it, no matter what."