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Robert sat at his desk. It was clear except for a few miscellaneous post-it notes and a calendar displaying the month of June. Something seemed amiss, but he couldn’t trust his memory; he had been in a fog when he had bundled Catherine into the back seat of the car and left the house as it was. It seemed a lifetime ago. Her lifetime.
He lifted his head when he heard the car in the drive. He dried his tears when he heard the door slam and footsteps. He turned in his swivel chair when the key entered the lock. He waited to see what new world his house lived in, now that he had left it alone for so long.
Sharp, purposeful steps came straight into the office and stopped.
“Ah, you’ve broken in for one last visit,” said Fondler.
“No, I’ve come home again,” said Robert. “What are you doing here and how did you get a key?”
“This is my place now, Robert, as you know. I haven’t got around to changing the locks yet.”
“It’s been my house all my life and that’s not going to change.”
“Too bad you signed it away, my friend. Can I make you a cup of tea and a plate of crumpets before you leave my house?” said Fondler with a controlled snarl.
“What exactly are you talking about, Nick? You mean because of a forged signature, you think you own the place? You’ve always wanted it but it doesn’t come that easily. I’m not even offering tea. Just get out.”
“So you come back November 3, sign away the house to me, and decide on November 20 that you didn’t really mean it and let’s forget all about it and move back in. Look. I don’t have time for this. I told you back in June I’d take the place—and the debt—off your hands, and that’s what I’m doing. We’ll make something really nice out of this property and I promise you, I will not only get you out from under your debt, I will get you a good chunk of change to send you on your way."
Robert glared at him.
"You were right to sign that deed over to VestProp, Robert. It was the best thing for us all. Don’t be a fool now. I know you’re just back to collect your stuff, that’s great. I was going to toss it all in the dumpster that’s arriving on Monday.”
“Fondler, I haven’t been here since June. If you got a deed signed, then it was by someone else. I have no intention of leaving, and nothing of mine is being thrown away.”
Fondler narrowed his eyes and was quiet for a moment. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder, thumbed through it, found the paper, marched over to McIver and showed it to him.
Robert was curious how Franck might have signed it without reading it, but now he saw the signature was on a page of its own, with the text filling up the previous page. There was a crease in the paper at the staple.
“That isn’t my signature,” said Robert. “I could tear this up right now and it would be no different than having this fake signature on your paper. If you try to get a loan using this house, or try to pay off the mortgage, the bank will know at a glance that this is not my signature and that this house isn’t yours. They have my signature on file. And if it comes to it, a court of law will know how to read signatures.”
“Give me that!” barked Fondler, lunging for and grabbing the paper back from Robert.
Fondler’s mind was stewing with hatred for Zeke, and ideas for handling him. It was the same old story. Here he was, Nick Fondler, working his ass off, not just to make a lot of money for himself but also to spread it around to others, fix up properties, smooth things out for everyone. But people are just too stupid to stay out of his way, even if it’s for their own good. They deserve what they get. He snapped back to the current predicament.
“Look, McIver,” said Fondler, now starting to pace in an arc around Robert’s chair, like a hawk honing in on his prey. “I have this paper, and I’ve given it to the bank, and the course is set. I have friends at the bank, McIver. And more than that, I have friends everywhere you look in this city. I have it fixed with my friends at the zoning board, and at city council, and my friend the city manager. I have friends in the police department, and lawyers and judges. If you don’t want to cooperate with me, I will own this place at the foreclosure auction. I know what the bank is bidding. This property will be rebuilt, my friend. We will soon be selling condos up and down your 8 acres of land, and a new little road will cut right through so my project has easy access for the new condo owners. It’s all in the works. You can come away with a piece of it, maybe six figures, McIver. Sign it over now – just put your real signature on that paper. Then we’ll all make out like bandits and you can buy a nicer place and live happily ever after. Or wait until you lose the place to me in foreclosure and walk away with nothing. You can’t fight the tide.”
Robert stood up, and Fondler stopped pacing.
“Even the tide has its place, Fondler. Usually out by the shore. We’re high and dry here, or didn’t you notice? There will be no tide of development. You don’t belong here. None of your so-called friends can take this house away from me. Get the hell out. Now.”
Fondler, completely agitated and taken aback, looked from side to side, and suddenly caught sight of another person, a woman, solidly built, casually leaning against the doorway to the library across the hall, calmly watching him with unflinching, penetrating eyes. Fondler reached for and missed his briefcase and then fiercely grabbed it and lunged towards the woman.
He shouted back, “You’re finished, McIver. Get out of this city while you still can!” Rosa stood in front of him impassively. Fondler pivoted in the hallway and reached for the front door, fumbling with the handle before yanking it so hard that it slammed open while he stormed out.