Chapter 6 - The Call From the Father-in-Law
The next morning, my phone rang again.
This time it was Isabella’s father, Richard Mercer.
We had met only a handful of times. He was the kind of retired banker who still ironed his shirts on vacation and believed people revealed themselves by how promptly they returned calls.
“Dennis,” he said, surprisingly formal, “I think there are some things I should have asked earlier.”
That sentence told me plenty.
Richard and his wife had arrived in Spokane expecting one version of Michael and Isabella’s life.
The Uber fiasco, the bounced mortgage payment, and a bank call about “owner authorization” had shown them another.
“Did you know,” Richard asked, “that Michael told us he purchased that house himself three years ago and that your support was only a temporary family loan after his mother died?”
I sat down.
“No. Because it isn’t true.”
Richard exhaled slowly.
He then told me something useful: on Christmas Eve, a mobile notary had been scheduled to come by the house on December 27th—two days after Christmas—to help finalize some “family restructuring paperwork.” Richard had assumed it was something to move title cleanly to Michael and Isabella or to consolidate obligations.
I went very still.
The unfamiliar missed number.
Karen from the bank.
Michael’s panic after the payment failed.
The puzzle pieces were beginning to connect.
Richard’s voice hardened.
“My daughter insisted you were becoming forgetful and that Michael was gradually taking over the property matters to help you.”
There it was.
Not just fraud.
Narrative.
They hadn’t merely forged my signature.
They had prepared a story in which I was the aging father being managed for my own good.
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When I hung up, I called Elaine.
“File the police report,” I said.
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