Attempted.
The word brings a small, bitter sense of relief.
Then Daniel asks if he should begin immediately. You say yes. His assistant comes in, and for the next hour, the office becomes a machine. Calls go out to the land records office, the vehicle registry, the trust administrator, and the notary listed on a suspicious transfer request submitted in your name two days earlier.
The signature is not yours.
The notarization stamp is real.
The notary is not.
It’s a counterfeit seal.
Daniel’s jaw tightens at that.
Then the trust administrator confirms that someone called last week pretending to be you, asking about sale procedures—but failed the security questions, so no information was released. A pending inquiry was noted, nothing more. The registry office, however, has a scanned title release request for the Volkswagen. Also fake. Also under review, not finalized.
Your daughter did not sell the assets.
She tried to.
And to do it, she pretended to be you.
You sit very still as that truth settles deep inside you.
A mother spends decades believing pain will come from the outside world—illness, accidents, strangers, time. You never imagine the blade will one day wear your child’s face.
Daniel gently asks whether you want law enforcement involved now or if you prefer to begin with formal notices freezing all activity and preserving records. You choose the second. Not because Ángela deserves protection, but because you need facts before war. Daniel agrees. By noon, certified notices are prepared. Fraud alerts are placed. A private investigator he occasionally uses is assigned to trace the supposed buyers.
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