Chapter 6 - The Man at Christmas
Ethan Cole answered Greg's call on the second ring.
Greg gave him almost nothing at first.
His name.
My name.
The application number from the term sheet.
Then one sentence.
"My client disputes the power of attorney and every signature submitted in his name."
Ethan stopped breathing into the phone.
I could hear office noise behind him.
A printer.
A woman laughing somewhere far from the receiver.
Then a door shut.
"Where is your client?" he asked.
"With me."
"Can I speak to him?"
Greg looked at me.
I nodded.
"Mr. Cole, this is Aaron Brooks."
"We met Christmas night."
My skin tightened.
"No, we didn't."
Silence.
"You were at Cedar Lane?" I asked.
"Yes."
"I was outside Cedar Lane at approximately six thirty holding four presents while my mother told me I wasn't invited. I never entered the house."
Ethan said nothing for several seconds.
Then he asked, "Where are you now?"
We met him at a coffee shop two blocks from Meridian's office.
He arrived in a dark overcoat with a laptop bag and the look of a man calculating how much trouble could fit inside one morning.
He did not order coffee.
He opened his laptop.
"I was invited to the Brooks residence for an informal relationship meeting," he said. "I was told you were expected later, but weather delays might keep you away."
"Who told you?"
"Melanie and Mr. Keller."
"Travis."
"Yes."
"Did you see my mother?"
"Several times."
"My father?"
"Briefly."
"Did anyone introduce themselves as me?"
"No."
That surprised me.
Ethan rotated the laptop.
"They didn't need to. They said you had already executed a limited power of attorney because your work schedule made in-person meetings difficult."
There it was.
The document from Unit 314.
My forged name at the bottom.
Linda Voss's notary stamp.
Ethan scrolled.
"We still require final direct verification from the guarantor before funding. That's why I've been trying to reach you."
"At what number?"
He read it.
Not mine.
Melanie's.
"And email?"
The fake contracts address.
Greg's pen moved quickly.
"Who attended your Christmas discussion?"
"Melanie. Travis. Diane. Two people introduced as family friends. Robert came in and out."
"What did they discuss?"
"The business expansion. The property option. Collateral support."
I leaned forward.
"What business expansion?"
Ethan opened the financial summary.
M&R Home Interiors claimed annual revenue of $610,000.
I nearly laughed.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because Melanie complains when she gets three clients in a month."
Ethan's mouth tightened.
"The application includes contracts and receivables."
"Real ones?"
"That's now a question for our fraud team."
Greg asked whether Meridian had funded anything yet.
"No. The closing was scheduled Monday. I've placed a hold."
For the first time in two days, I felt one knot loosen.
Then Ethan added, "But there was a bridge advance."
The knot returned.
"How much?"
"Twenty-five thousand."
"To whom?"
"M&R."
"Guaranteed by me?"
"Provisionally, yes."
I gripped the edge of the table.
Ethan raised both hands.
"We're freezing everything."
"After sending twenty-five thousand dollars."
"Based on documents that appeared valid."
"A forged power of attorney appeared valid?"
Greg touched my sleeve once.
Enough.
Ethan's face reddened.
"It had a notary acknowledgment."
"From Linda Voss."
He looked up.
"You know her?"
"My mother's friend."
His expression flattened.
Greg asked for the notary commission information Meridian had verified.
Ethan pulled up the due-diligence file.
State commission number.
Expiration date.
He read it aloud.
Greg stopped writing.
"Say that date again."
Ethan did.
Greg took out his phone, searched the Texas notary database, and turned the screen toward us.
Linda Voss.
Commission expired six months before the supposed notarization.
Ethan stared.
"That should have been flagged."
"It wasn't," Greg said.
The temperature at the table changed.
This was no longer just my family against me.
Now a lender had its own mistakes to explain.
Ethan closed the public-facing application and opened internal notes.
"There was pressure to move quickly because the borrower claimed a supplier deadline. Travis called almost daily."
"Did my mother call?"
"Twice."
"What did she say?"
He scrolled.
"That you were fully supportive but emotionally exhausted from work."
I let out a breath through my nose.
"Convenient."
Another note.
Borrower advised guarantor has family conflict history; avoid unnecessary direct contact until final verification.
I pointed.
"Who said that?"
Ethan hesitated.
"Melanie."
A small sound escaped me.
Not laughter.
Not quite.
My own sister had prewritten an explanation for why the lender should not talk to me.
Greg asked Ethan to preserve all recordings, emails, text messages, and submitted documents.
Ethan agreed.
Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a printed photograph.
"There was a holiday picture taken after dinner. I received it with a thank-you email."
He placed it on the table.
I recognized my parents' living room.
The Christmas tree.
The fireplace.
Mom smiling.
Melanie in red.
Travis holding a glass.
Ethan near the edge of the frame.
Dad looked away from the camera.
Behind them, on the dining table, lay the black AARON binder from Unit 314.
Open.
Ethan tapped the picture.
"I remember seeing that folder. They told me it contained your executed documents."
My phone vibrated.
A text from Dad.
THE HOUSE IS EMPTYING OUT.
Then another.
MELANIE'S CAR IS LOADED.
I stood.
Greg did too.
Ethan looked between us.
"What happened?"
"They know the deal is frozen," I said.
Greg was already calling the police non-emergency line and the property manager.
I looked down at the photograph again.
Mom's hand rested on the black binder.
The binder with my stolen documents.
The binder they had kept ten feet from the front door.
I had been close enough to see the Christmas lights through the glass.
Close enough to stop everything.
That was why I could not be allowed inside.
Greg ended the call.
"We have another problem."
"What?"
He held up his phone.
"Karen says the smart-meter usage at Cedar Lane dropped almost to zero overnight."
I looked at the loaded car in Dad's message.
"They're leaving."
Greg shook his head.
"Or they're clearing the evidence."
Ethan forwarded one voicemail while we sat there.
Melanie's voice came through his laptop speakers, bright and casual.
"Aaron gets weird around the holidays. Family stuff. If he sounds short, don't take it personally. Diane has full authority."
The message had been left three days before Christmas.
Before I had done anything.
Before I had frozen any account.
Before I had shut off a single service.
They had described my future anger before giving me a reason to be angry.
Greg replayed the voicemail once.
"That's preparation," he said.
Ethan looked miserable.
"I thought it was family context."
"That's what it was designed to look like," I said.
Outside the coffee shop window, people moved past carrying shopping bags.
Normal Saturday traffic.
May you like
I had the strange feeling that my entire family history had been converted into paperwork while the rest of the city kept moving.
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