Chapter 3 - The Notary's Seal
The man in the video was Greg Abernathy, the county clerk and a public notary. He had gone to high school with Seth. In the footage, Abernathy barely flinched as my father collapsed. He just wiped a speck of blood off the quitclaim deed, stamped it, and signed his name.
At 11:00 PM, I kicked the front door of Abernathy’s suburban home.
It took three kicks before the deadbolt gave way, splintering the doorframe. Abernathy came running down the stairs in his pajamas, holding a golf club. When he saw me standing in his foyer in my combat boots, the club dropped from his hands.
“Daniel,” he stammered, backing up against the banister. “You’re supposed to be in Germany.”
“Sit down, Greg.”
He didn't move fast enough, so I grabbed him by the collar of his expensive robe and threw him into his own living room armchair. I pulled out my phone, hit play, and turned the screen toward him.
The sound of my father crying out filled the quiet, upscale house.
Abernathy went dead pale. “I didn't touch him! That was Seth. I was just there to notarize the document.”
“You notarized a deed under extreme physical duress and failed to report a felony assault on a senior citizen,” I said, leaning in close. “That’s conspiracy, fraud, and accessory to aggravated battery. You’re going to federal prison, Greg.”
“Please,” he begged, his hands shaking violently. “Seth said you were never coming back. Claire had letters—military letters—saying you requested an extended overseas detail and relinquished your marital assets. They paid me twenty thousand dollars from your combat pay to push the deed through the county registry without a review period.”
I processed the betrayal. Claire hadn't just drained my accounts; she had fabricated my abandonment.
“Why the rush?” I asked. “Why torture them instead of just evicting them normally?”
Abernathy swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temples. “Because the farm isn't staying a farm. Claire and Seth didn't steal it to live there. They stole it to sell it to Vanguard Logistics. They’re building a regional distribution warehouse. The land is worth three million dollars.”
The scale of the greed was staggering. “When does the sale close?”
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“Tomorrow,” Abernathy whispered. “The wire transfer clears at 9:00 AM. As soon as the money hits Seth’s account, the bulldozers are scheduled to tear down the farmhouse.”
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