Poor People Don’t Go To Fancy Places. YOU Stay Home!’ My Daughter-In-Law Said…

“Here are copies of the documents. Three different loans, all using this property as collateral, all with your forged signature.”

I took the papers with trembling hands. There it was—my name, my address, and my signature.

But I hadn’t signed that. I had never seen those documents in my life.

“This totals $85,000, Mrs. Davis. $85,000 in debt that is in your name. If it isn’t paid, the bank can take the house.”

I couldn’t breathe. $85,000. My house was at risk.

My son—my own son had done this.

“Why?”

was all I could say.

“Why would he do this?”

Mr. Thompson sighed.

“According to what Robert told me, your son lives well beyond his means. The luxury car, the renovated house, the expensive restaurants—he maintains all of that with borrowed money.”

And when he could no longer get loans in his name, he used mine.

The tears began to fall. But this time they weren’t tears of sadness; they were tears of rage and betrayal.

It was a pain so deep it had no name.

“And why are you telling me this? What do you gain from this?”

I asked.

“Robert was a complicated man, but he had principles. When he discovered what Michael had done, he wanted to protect you.”

Before he died, he paid off two of those debts.

“$25,000 remain pending,”

he said as he took out another document.

“And he left this fund to cover that amount, but only if you agree to confront your son. Only if you agree to report him legally.”

“Report him? My own son?”

The word sounded impossible.

“I can’t do that. He’s my son.”

“Mrs. Davis, if you don’t do something, you will lose your house and your son will keep doing this.”

He will keep using other people. He will keep lying and destroying lives.

Mr. Thompson leaned forward.

“Robert wanted to give you a way out, but you need to act.”

I stayed silent, looking at the documents and reading the numbers. $85,000.

My house was mortgaged without my permission. There were years of monthly payments I had never made but that were recorded in my name.

Everything was a lie. Everything was fraud, and my son was responsible.

“How much time do I have to decide?”

I asked.

“The payments are due in three weeks. If they aren’t covered, the foreclosure process will begin automatically.”

Mr. Thompson closed the folder.

“I know it is a lot to process, but I need you to understand the gravity of the situation.”

He got up from the sofa and took a card from his pocket.

“This is my number. Call me when you are ready to talk, but don’t take too long. Time is ticking.”

I walked him to the door. He left without saying anything else.

I closed the door and stood there with the card in one hand and the documents in the other. I felt my world crumble completely.

I walked back to the living room like a zombie and sat on the sofa. I opened the documents and started reading them one by one.

Each page was worse than the last. There were loans applied for two years ago, payments never made, and threats of foreclosure.

It was all in my name and all without my knowledge. Then I saw something that chilled my blood.

In one of the documents, there was an email address—an account that was supposedly mine but that I had never created.

There was a phone number that wasn’t mine. Michael had created a fake identity in my name.

He had forged my signature and used my data. He had done it all while looking me in the eyes and calling me Mom.

I picked up my phone with trembling hands and dialed Michael’s number. It rang once, twice, three times.

Finally, he answered. His voice sounded tired; he had probably gotten in late last night from the restaurant.

“Mom, what’s up? It’s really early.”

I didn’t know where to start. The words got stuck in my throat.

“Michael, I need you to come to my house now.”

“Now, Mom? I just fell asleep two hours ago. Can’t it wait?”

“No, it can’t wait. Come now, or I’m coming to your house.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Are you okay? You sound weird.”

“Come now.”

I hung up before he could say anything else. I sat on the sofa looking at the documents and waiting.

Time seemed to pass slowly. Every minute was an eternity.

Every second gave me more time to think, to process, and to feel the rage growing inside me.

Forty minutes later, I heard the car park. I heard the driver’s door open and footsteps on the path.

The key turned in the lock. Michael entered wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants.

He looked disheveled and annoyed.

“Mom, what is so urgent that it couldn’t wait?”

I said nothing. I just handed him the documents.

He took them with a confused expression. He started reading, and I saw his face change.

First came confusion, then recognition, then panic, then calculation. His eyes moved rapidly over the pages, and his hands began to tremble slightly.

“Mom, I can explain,”

he said.

“Explain?”

My voice came out colder than I expected, firmer and stronger.

He put the documents on the table and ran his hands through his hair.

“It’s complicated. I was going to tell you, but I couldn’t find the right moment.”

“You couldn’t find the right moment to tell me you mortgaged my house without my permission? That you forged my signature? That you put me in debt for $85,000?”

“It’s not that simple. I needed that money for an investment—an investment that was going to make us all a lot of money.”

“I was going to pay you. I was going to pay it all back,”

he added.

“When, Michael? When were you going to pay it back? Before or after they took my house?”

He stayed silent, looking at the floor like a child caught in a lie. But he wasn’t a child; he was a man of almost 40 who had betrayed his own mother.

Michael remained standing in front of me, head down and speechless. The silence between us was so heavy I could feel it pressing against my chest.

I waited. I waited for him to say something—anything—that could explain the inexplicable.

“Mom, I…”

He started but stopped.

He sat on the sofa across from me and covered his face with his hands.

“Everything got out of control. I thought I could handle it.”

“Handle it?”

My voice came out louder than I intended.

“Handle it, Michael? You forged my signature. You used my house without my permission.”

“You put me at risk of losing everything, and you call that handling it?”

“It was a safe investment. Robert promised me. He said in six months we’d have double the money.”

“I was going to pay you everything with interest. You were going to be better off than ever.”

“Robert is dead, Michael. And he left instructions for his lawyer to contact me because he knew what you had done.”

I looked him in the eye.

“He knew it was fraud.”

Michael raised his head sharply. His eyes were red.

“Mr. Thompson came here? What did he tell you?”

“He told me the truth. Something you have never done.”

I got up from the sofa and started pacing like a caged animal.