One week before the apartment sale, my father-in-law told me: «While your husband is away, take a hammer and smash the tile behind the toilet in the bathroom!»…

Sale, gift, or other alienation of the specified real estate object is carried out exclusively with the personal written consent of both owners, certified by signature on the final purchase agreement. Emily exhaled. She almost sat on the floor from relief.

Tears streamed from her eyes, the first tears of this terrible day. Tears of relief. «So, so his power of attorney is worthless?» she asked, wiping them with her hand.

«Not quite,» the lawyer said cautiously. «The power of attorney gives him the right to collect documents, negotiate, even receive money for you, as stated there. But the final document, the contract itself that they’ll sign at the notary on the deal day, needs your personal signature on it.

Without it, the deal will be invalid.» Victory! It was victory. David couldn’t sell the apartment without her.

His plan collapsed. «Thank God!» Emily whispered. «Thank God, but there’s one thing,» Anthony Simmons frowned.

«To be sure, I need to see the power of attorney itself. What exact wording did they use? Can you show it?» Emily looked at Michael. He nodded.

«I have a copy. I stopped by the realtor today, under the pretext of clarifying details for my son. Photographed it on my phone while he turned away for coffee.»

Michael pulled out his old flip phone, fiddled with it for a long time, and finally opened the photo. He handed it to the lawyer. Anthony Simmons put on his glasses again and held the phone close to his eyes, zooming in.

He peered at the blurry text for several minutes. His face grew more serious. «So, so,» he muttered to himself, «notary Paul Victor, everything standard, authorize, sell, receive monetary funds.»

He fell silent, zooming in on the bottom part of the document where the signatures and stamp were. He stared at that spot for a long time.

Then slowly lowered the phone. He looked at Emily. His gaze was heavy.

That ray of hope that had just ignited in her soul began to fade under this gaze. «What’s there?» she asked anxiously. «My dear girl,» the lawyer said quietly and sympathetically.

«I’m afraid I have very bad news for you.» He took the apartment contract again and opened the last page, where her signature from fifteen years ago was. Then looked again at the power of attorney photo on the phone.

«This is very good work,» he said, shaking his head. «Very. Almost perfect.

But this isn’t your signature, right?» Emily went cold. «No, I didn’t sign anything. That’s the problem.

This isn’t a general power of attorney issued with your verbal consent. This is a document with your signature on it. More precisely, its skillful forgery.

And this forged signature is certified by the stamp and signature of a valid state notary.» He turned the phone to her. «Look.

From a legal point of view, for all participants in the deal, for the realtor, for the buyer, for the registration office, it looks as if you personally came to the notary, showed your ID, and signed in his presence. This isn’t just a power of attorney. This is a full legal document confirming your will.»

Emily stared at the phone screen. At this neat, precise, alien signature of hers. And the blue round stamp next to it.

Her husband hadn’t just bypassed her. He had committed a criminal offense. He had forged her signature.

He found a notary who committed an official crime and certified this fake. The betrayal reached a new level. It became legally binding, sealed with a state stamp.

The blue stamp on the phone screen blurred before Emily’s eyes. Paul Victor. Notary.

This name and this stamp crossed out everything. Her last hope, that very clause 7.3 in the contract, crumbled to dust. What difference did it make what was written there if there was another document with her forged signature and state stamp that overrode all previous conditions.

But, it’s a forgery. Emily’s voice trembled. It’s a crime.

We can go to the police. Report it. Anthony Simmons shook his head sympathetically. We can.

And we should. But understand, my girl, it’s not a quick process. You’ll file a report.

They’ll appoint a handwriting expertise. That’s a week, if not months. And when is your deal? Tomorrow, Michael answered dully.

The deal tomorrow at lunch. There, the lawyer spread his hands. Tomorrow at lunch, your husband and the buyer will sign the final contract.

The realtor and the notary conducting the deal will see this power of attorney. They won’t have reason to doubt its legality. For them, everything will be clean.

The money will go to your husband’s account. And you can sue for years afterward, proving your signature was forged. Maybe you’ll win the case.

In a year. Or two. But the apartment will already be sold by then, possibly resold again.

The money will disappear. You’ll be left with nothing. The lawyer’s words were merciless but honest.

He gave no false hopes. He simply outlined reality. And the reality was that Emily was in a legal trap with no quick escape.

David and whoever helped him had thought of everything down to the details. And the notary? asked Michael, his voice tense. This Paul Victor.

He’s risking everything. License, freedom. Why would he? Money, Michael, money, sighed Anthony Simmons.

In our world, for money, you can make a person risk anything. Or, or he had other reasons. Maybe he was forced? Blackmail, threats.

We don’t know. But the fact remains. This Paul Victor is your weakest and strongest link.

If he confessed to certifying a forged document, the deal would fall apart immediately. But he won’t confess. For him, that’s tantamount to turning himself in.

They left the lawyer’s at dawn. The sky in the east was lightening. The city was waking up.

People hurried to work, to daycares, living their ordinary lives. And for Emily, that life was over. She felt like a ghost in someone else’s world.

Michael drove her home. You need to sleep at least a couple hours, he said as they stood at the entrance. Your head needs to be clear.

I won’t be able to sleep, Emily replied. She looked at her apartment windows. Now it wasn’t just a torture site, but a cage from which she was about to be thrown out.

Then just lie down. I’ll think what can be done. There must be some way out.

Michael left, and Emily went up to the empty apartment. She didn’t lie down. She paced from room to room, in a daze.

Didn’t eat, didn’t drink, just sat on the couch and stared at the wall. The phone was silent.

David didn’t call. He was confident in his victory. Mom didn’t call either.

Probably still comforting the suffering Sophia. In the evening, the doorbell rang. It was Michael.

He looked tired, drained. Went to the kitchen, heavily sat on a chair. I’ve been on the phone all day, he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Called old friends. From the factory, from the union. I had many acquaintances there.

The city is small, everyone knows each other through two handshakes. I decided to inquire. About this notary.

About Paul Victor. Emily froze, waiting. At first, nothing came up.

Ordinary notary, his own office downtown. Worked about 10 years. No complaints apparently.

But then I called one old buddy, Colin. He works in administration now, in HR.

He has access to various databases. I asked him to check informally. Said it was for a case.

Michael paused, looked at Emily. Paul Victor, he pronounced slowly, distinctly. Married.

Wife Paul Victor, maiden name Stephens, Antonia. Works as senior administrator at Pearl Dental Clinic. Emily’s heart didn’t skip.

Pearl. She had heard that name, an ordinary private dentistry. And so? She didn’t understand.

And the director of that clinic, her boss, a certain Veronica Markham, Colin checked her too. And her sister. Blood sister.

He fell silent, letting Emily put two and two together. But she still didn’t get it. Markham? What does this woman have to do with me? I don’t understand, Emily whispered. Sophia, said Michael.

Your sister. Where does she work? And then Emily’s world collapsed for the third time in the last two days. At Pearl, she exhaled.

She works at Pearl Dental. As a receptionist. Yes, Michael nodded.

She works as a receptionist. And her boss, Veronica Markham, is the blood sister of the notary Paul Victor’s wife. In other words, the notary who certified the forged power of attorney is the brother-in-law, husband of the sister of your sister’s boss.

Connection. There it was. An ugly, sticky web of connections.

This wasn’t a random notary bought for money. This wasn’t blackmail from outside. This was their own, internal, family arrangement.

David wouldn’t seek someone outside, risk it. He used the ready network. The network Sophia provided him.

This wasn’t just betrayal. It was a carefully planned conspiracy. Sophia wasn’t just a mistress who decided to run away with someone else’s husband.

She was an active accomplice. She found access to the right person through her job, through her boss. She was the brain of this part of the operation.

She used her professional connections to help destroy her own sister. The realization was scarier than everything before. It turned the family drama into a cold, calculated criminal conspiracy where everyone played their role.

And the conductor, as Emily now understood, was not only David’s greed but also her own sister’s quiet, poisonous hatred. Michael’s words settled on the kitchen table like a shroud. Brother-in-law of the sister’s boss…