There was a copy of her driver’s license in the folder. She was 34 years old. She worked as a receptionist at the local health clinic.

That was where Ray went every month to get his blood pressure checked. He had met her there.

The contract also contained a bank draft. It showed that the funds for the purchase were coming from a secret account Ray had opened in his name only.

But the closing required a spousal waiver because we lived in a community property state.

I looked closer at the documents. There was a signed spousal waiver form with my name on it.

It was a forgery. A very good one, but still a fake. He had copied my signature from our old mortgage papers.

He thought he had covered every single track. He thought a 68-year-old wife would never look.

But he forgot that the beauty parlor is the biggest information hub in the county. He forgot that women talk.

I put the folder back exactly where I found it. I closed the computer.

When Ray came inside, he smiled at me. “The tomatoes are doing great, Dotty,” he said, pouring himself a glass of iced tea.

“That’s nice, dear,” I said. I looked at his hands. The hands that had forged my name.

I spent all of Wednesday preparing. I didn’t cry. I didn’t confront him. I didn’t want to give him a chance to run or make excuses.

I went to see my lawyer, Bill Hayes. He had been my trusted advisor since my father died.

“This is serious, Dorothy,” Bill said, looking at the copies of the court records and the forged waiver I had taken. “He has committed fraud.”

“I don’t want him in jail, Bill,” I said quietly. “I just want what is mine. And I want him to look me in the eye when he loses it.”

“We can file an emergency injunction,” Bill explained. “We can freeze the funds and block the sale. But we have to act fast.”

“Don’t block it yet,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips. “Let them get to the table.”

Thursday morning arrived. The weather was gray and overcast, a typical humid Florida morning.

Ray was nervous. I could tell by the way he kept checking his watch. He didn’t eat his oatmeal.

“I have to run some errands in town, Dotty,” he said around 9 AM. “Might take a few hours.”

“Take your time, dear,” I said. I was already dressed in my best church suit. I was wearing my mother’s pearls.

He left the house in his clean sedan. I waited exactly 10 minutes before I got into my own car.

I drove down to the title company office on Main Street. The parking lot was quiet.

I saw Ray’s car parked near the entrance. Next to it was a sporty little red coupe.

I walked inside the building. The air conditioning was freezing, but my skin felt hot with anticipation.