A woman in a navy blazer approached us from the interview rooms. Detective Ramirez introduced her as Lara Chen, a fraud investigator working with Crescent State Bank's commercial lending division. Lara was careful to explain that she did not represent my interests personally, but that the bank had stopped the proposed disbursement while it reviewed the authorization and collateral records. She also confirmed that the bank was cooperating with law enforcement and preserving the original submissions.
"Does my property currently secure this loan?" I asked.
"Based on the records I've reviewed, the contemplated new facility has not funded," she said. "The bank has not treated the questioned guaranty as verified. That doesn't mean there are no documents requiring correction or legal challenge. Your attorney should review the title filings and any notices that may have been recorded."
I had hoped for a simpler answer. Instead I received the first of many lessons about how differently the legal system and an injured person defined safety. I wanted to know whether my mother's house could be taken away. Lara could tell me that a particular payment had been stopped, but she could not promise what every future lender, lien claimant, or court would decide without reviewing the records.
"Do you know why Ryan was traveling today?" I asked.
"We know he told our loan officer he expected to be available by phone from Mexico. We don't know whether he intended to meet anyone there about the proposed investment. That's not something the bank can establish from the loan file alone."
She paused, then added something that struck me. "What matters immediately is that you've reported the apparent forgery, and that the lender knows it is disputed. You should not have to personally prove every part of a complex transaction before anyone takes your concern seriously."
I thanked her. After she left, I asked Daniel for the name of an attorney who could protect the family land without representing Ryan or his company. He had one written on a separate card. I almost laughed at the sight of another business card, another small rectangle of paper that seemed to contain the possibility of keeping some part of my life from falling apart.
The lawyer's name was Camila Reyes. She specialized in property disputes, business litigation, and financial fraud affecting families. I called from the hallway and explained that I had just learned about documents bearing my forged signature. She asked whether any funds had been disbursed, whether the property was in my name alone, and whether I had signed any general authorization for Ryan to act for me.
"No," I said for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "I said no when he asked. He knew I would never consent."
"Then our first task is to preserve the record of that refusal," Camila replied. "We'll obtain the recorded instruments, notify the appropriate parties of the disputed authorization, and evaluate what civil action is needed. I don't want you confronting your husband about documents or trying to negotiate privately. You have a criminal investigation under way. Let us coordinate with the investigators where appropriate."
"I'm supposed to be at work. I don't know whether I can pay for a fight like this."