Chapter 4 - The Morning Call
I woke before the heat kicked on. The apartment was cold in that way it gets the morning after a holiday, when the building goes quiet and nobody runs water for a while. My navy shirt from last night was draped over the back of a kitchen chair. I hadn't hung it up.
My name is Maya Ellis. I was thirty-six and I owned a one-bedroom condo I hadn't agreed to sell.
I stood at the counter in a sweatshirt and made coffee I didn't drink. The phone sat next to the white mug I'd brought home from my dad's house. I'd washed it out of habit. On the lock screen was the screenshot I'd taken at the table: Unknown number, 6:14 p.m. *Title office flag on your file - signatures don't match. Closing on hold. Call emerg line AM.*
I hadn't read it out loud at dinner. My sister Lauren had done enough talking for both of us.
At 7:42 I dialed the number from the message. My hands were steady until I had to press the last digit. Then they weren't.
The line rang twice and clicked to a recorded menu. "You've reached Harbor Title and Escrow. Our offices are closed for the Thanksgiving holiday. If you are calling regarding an urgent closing matter, press one to reach the on-call officer."
I pressed one.
Another ring. A man picked up, voice thick with sleep. "This is Greg. Harbor Title on-call."
"Hi," I said. "My name is Maya Ellis. I got a message about a flag on my file. It said signatures don't match and closing is on hold."
A pause. Sheets moving. "Okay. Give me the property address?"
I gave it. He typed while I listened to my refrigerator hum.
"All right, Ms. Ellis, I see it," he said, more awake now. "I'm not the closer on this, but I'm looking at the notes. The file was opened two weeks ago by the listing side. Disbursement review flagged it yesterday. The signatures on the listing agreement and the seller disclosures don't match the signature we have for you from your purchase."
My throat went dry. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means we stopped it," he said. "No funds move. No deed records. The file status here is on hold pending identity verification."
I leaned against the counter. The tile was cold through my socks. "Who submitted the documents?" I asked.
More typing. "Submission came through the listing agent's portal," he said. "Lauren Ellis with Northside Realty. Same last name. Is that —"
"My sister," I said.
He didn't comment on that. To his credit, his tone didn't change. "The note says the agent uploaded a signed listing agreement, seller disclosure, and a copy of what looks like your ID from the purchase file. Our processor compared them and kicked it back. The closer left you that message because your phone is listed as the owner contact."
I closed my eyes. The kitchen light felt too bright. "So she — the listing was accepted with my name on it, but I didn't sign it."
"I can't tell you who signed what, ma'am," he said carefully. "I can tell you what I see. Two signatures that don't align, a file we won't clear until that's resolved, and a note that says do not proceed without direct owner verification."
That was enough. It was more than I'd had at the table, holding that mug with both hands while Lauren smiled over her wineglass.
"I want to do this right," I said. "What do I need to do?"
"You'll need to talk to the closer Monday morning. Her name is Dana Price. She'll walk you through an affidavit of non-signature if that's where this goes. For now I can log that you called and that you dispute the authorization."
"Please log it," I said. "And can I get copies of everything that was submitted? The full packet?"
"You can request it in writing," he said. "Email the main office and copy Ms. Price. Say you are the record owner requesting the complete document packet for file number —" He read off a six-digit number and I wrote it on the back of a grocery receipt. "Once we verify your ID, we'll send it electronically."
I repeated the number back to him. "How long does that take?"
"With the holiday, probably Monday or Tuesday," he said. "But the hold stays in place through the weekend. Nothing happens without you."
I thanked him. He gave me the email address twice to make sure I had it right, and then he was gone.
I stood there a long minute with the dial tone gone and the coffee going cold. Outside my kitchen window, the parking lot was empty except for a couple cars with frost on the windshields. Somebody's TV was on faintly through the wall.
I opened my laptop on the kitchen table and typed the email before I could talk myself into waiting until Monday. Subject line: Request for Complete File Packet - Owner Verification. I kept it short. My name, my address, the file number, a statement that I had not authorized a listing and was requesting all submitted documents for review. I attached a photo of my driver's license.
My finger hovered over send. I thought about my dad in his suit at the end of the table, chewing and looking away. I thought about Lauren's hand resting near my plate.
I pressed send.
May you like
The email whooshed softly. I sat back and looked at the white mug on the counter. The hold was real. Someone outside our family had seen the mismatch and stopped it. That should have made me feel safer.
It didn't. It just made it official.
