Then I called Adrienne again.
Adrienne asked whether I had ever been given the original text of the supposed state law.
I told her the association had sent only summaries on letterhead.
She said her office had received three separate complaints about false legal notices in the county.
She could not tell me who had submitted the others.
She could confirm one thing.
There was no Uniform Property Compliance Act in the state.
The title appeared to have been invented by the association’s attorney or someone using his template.
Adrienne’s department investigated the accuracy of recorded access documents and referrals involving misleading filings.
The county attorney handled other possible offenses.
She emphasized that neither agency could grant me instant protection simply because a document was false.
There would be interviews, records requests, independent reviews, and decisions by people not connected to my dispute.
I asked what I should do next.
Adrienne gave me the direct number of a county land-records investigator named Tomas Rivera.
He was already scheduled to inspect a suspected forged easement submitted for recording.
The parcel number matched my driveway.
I sat down at the kitchen table and asked her to repeat that sentence.
A forged easement, she said.
Someone had filed a document claiming that the workshop owner consented to permanent access.
The signature looked like mine.
I had signed no such agreement.
The investigator wanted to inspect the original documents before the clerk decided whether to reject or flag the instrument.
Adrienne told me the filing was not conclusive proof that Vivian had authored the forgery.
She also warned me not to publicly accuse anyone until investigators had traced its source.
I thanked her and hung up.
The phone call had changed everything because the fight no longer depended on whether I could persuade an association board to be fair.
An independent public record had been challenged through a process the board could not control.
It was still going to be difficult.
It was no longer theirs to decide by shouting.
I called Rachel and told her Lucy should stay away from the house for a few more days.
Then I went to my desk and retrieved the signed closing documents from the drawer beneath my father’s notebook.
My signature appeared fourteen times in that packet.
The imitation on the scanned easement looked close from a distance, but it had one difference I recognized immediately.
Whoever had copied it used the version of my name I stopped using after college.
