At exactly nine Friday morning, my parents appeared with several suitcases. I remained upstairs, resting as Carla, my home-care aide, checked on me. Martin opened the front door.
“Move aside!” Dad shouted. “This is a family property!”
Martin showed him the recorded deed.
“No, Robert. This house belongs solely to Hannah.”
Mom moved forward.
“She said okay! We have her permission!”
Martin retrieved paperwork from his portfolio.
“Then perhaps you’d like to explain why you’ve been collecting money from guests using a booking agreement that bears Hannah’s signature.”
Dad stood openmouthed. I had never signed a booking agreement, and the signature on that document had been forged. My brief reply authorized neither forgery nor rentals.
## Part 2
For several moments, my parents remained rigid on the porch. Dad stared at the agreement Martin held, and Mom slowly turned toward him. “Robert,” she whispered, “what signature is he talking about?” Dad pointed accusingly at Martin. “This is ridiculous! Hannah agreed to let us use the house!” Martin answered evenly. “Then you should have no difficulty explaining the document you sent your guests. Hannah has confirmed she never signed it.”
