Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE TERESA NEVER SOLD
Teresa Balandi had loved her Federal Hill house.
It was narrow, brick-fronted, and older than most of the neighborhood businesses.
She had raised Raphael there before the family moved to the Blackstone Boulevard estate.
Even after her husband's death, she returned every Sunday to tend the small garden behind the kitchen.
She grew rosemary, basil, and tomatoes.
She disliked expensive flowers.
She disliked people who spoke too loudly.
And she had never trusted Franklin Doyle.
Rafe remembered that now.
He remembered her once saying, "That man smiles before he knows what you're going to say."
At the time, he'd laughed.
Now he wished he'd listened.
At the hospital, Mave sat upright in bed while Rafe explained the property records.
She listened without interrupting.
Then asked one question.
"Who signed the transfer?"
Rafe handed her a copy.
Mave studied it.
"Teresa Balandi."
"Yes."
She turned the page.
"Notary?"
"Arthur Lindquist."
Mave stopped breathing for a moment.
Then slowly looked up.
"Rafe."
He saw her expression.
"What?"
She pointed at the date.
"2021."
Silence.
"Arthur Lindquist retired in 2019."
Rafe stared at the document.
Mave continued.
"And according to the records I have, the seal used after his retirement was a reproduction."
Rafe looked down.
His mother's house had been transferred using the same notarial identity associated with Thornfield's fraudulent documents.
He felt something cold settle inside his chest.
"Can you prove it?"
"Not from this copy."
She looked at him.
"We need the original."
Rafe's attorney, Elena March, obtained a certified copy and initiated the process of preserving the original property records.
An independent document examiner was retained.
The preliminary findings suggested that the notarial impression differed from Lindquist's authentic seal.
But the examiner cautioned that the result required further comparison.
Mave appreciated that.
She had learned to distrust people who promised certainty too quickly.
Meanwhile, Birdie sat alone in the kitchen of the Blackstone Boulevard mansion.
She had not slept.
The old picture frame lay on the table before her.
Inside was a photograph of Teresa Balandi standing in her Federal Hill garden.
Behind the photograph, tucked between the backing and the cardboard, was a folded note.
Birdie opened it.
She had read it dozens of times.
Bernadette,
If Raphael ever asks about the house, tell him I never agreed to sell it. Franklin says I signed papers, but I remember refusing. I am frightened that something is wrong with my medicine.
Please don't let my son think I gave away the place where he grew up.
Teresa.
Birdie pressed the note against her chest.
She had hidden it for five years.
At first, she'd told herself she was protecting Rafe.
Then she'd told herself it was too late.
Now she understood that every day of silence had been another decision.
She picked up the telephone.
And called him.
Rafe answered on the second ring.
"Birdie?"
Her voice shook.
"Raphael, I lied to you."
He went still.
"About what?"
"Your mother's house."
Silence.
May you like
Then she whispered:
"She knew someone was stealing from her."
