My fake signature sat at the bottom like a spider.
Then there was the deed.
A quitclaim transfer dated November first, notarized at 2:30 p.m., conveying all right, title, and interest in the property to my parents “for value received.” The phrasing was standard. The effect was not. If the court accepted that deed as valid, everything else shifted under it. Suddenly they weren’t crazy people trying something desperate. They were “owners” evicting a “nonpaying occupant.”
A lie on top of a lie on top of a lie, each one built to make the next one look reasonable.
Jasmine lowered her voice. “You need to file an emergency motion to set aside the default judgment and stay enforcement. Judge Carrigan has a nine-thirty docket. If you can get this filed in the next ten minutes, I can flag it.”
I blinked at her. “You can do that?”
“I can make sure it gets seen. I cannot promise how she’ll rule.”
“That’s more than enough.”
I wrote in a courthouse hallway with my folder spread across my lap and my knees bouncing so hard the paper shook. Emergency Motion to Vacate Default Judgment. Fraud upon the court. Improper service. Forged lease. Forged deed. True address attached. Proof of ownership attached. I printed my letters too hard, the pen carving dents through the page.
A man in a navy suit brushed past, carrying coffee that smelled bitter and hot. Somewhere farther down the corridor a copier jam alarm started shrieking. Overhead lights hummed with that sterile, headachey sound every courthouse seems to produce.
