“How did you get this number?”
“From a guy named Darrell Russell,” I said. “I believe he’s done security work for your bank branch.”
“What’s all this about?” Tracy wanted to know. Her tone was almost as icy as the panorama currently visible outside the picture windows of my “view” room.
“I’m working on behalf of a young woman named Danitza Adams Miller,” I said. That was fudging things, but so be it. “I understand that earlier this fall—back in November—you notarized a power-of-attorney document for her father, Roger Adams from here in Homer. I believe he and his wife, Shelley, came into your bank branch to sign the document.”
At worst I expected Tracy to hang up on me. At the very least, I thought she’d tell me to get lost. Instead she surprised me.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said, “I remember them well. How is he? The poor man looked so ill at the time I saw them that I doubted he was long for this world.”
“Roger’s hanging in there,” I said. “What can you tell me about that visit?”
“I remember they didn’t have an appointment. They dropped by after visiting Mr. Adams’s physician’s office. I felt incredibly sorry for them both. Clearly Roger had just been given some kind of devastating diagnosis, and arranging for that power of attorney and having it in place was first on their list of getting things in order.”
“You’re certain they said they were coming from his doctor’s office?”
“Absolutely. They mentioned the office complex, and it happens to be the same one where my doctor is located.”
“Had you ever seen either one of them before?”
“No, but they have accounts with our branch in Homer, and that qualifies them as customers at every branch.”
“In order to notarize their document, you had to verify that they were who they said they were, right?”
“Of course.”
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure they both presented me with driver’s licenses at the time. That’s all that’s required—some form of government-issued photo ID.”
“Do you keep a copy of those?”
“Of course,” she said. “I have it in my file. Why do you ask? Where is this going?”
It was time for me to drop the bomb. “I believe the man who came to your bank that day claiming to be Roger Adams was an impostor. I also believe that Shelley Adams is using that fraudulently obtained power of attorney to divest the real Mr. Adams of literally millions of dollars’ worth of real estate.”
The phone went silent for a moment.
“No!” Tracy said finally. “That can’t be true.”
“I’m afraid it is. I believe the fake ID for him they presented to you might well have been a professionally created one that looked legitimate enough to fool even a pro.”
“If that’s the case, it’s dreadful,” Tracy said, sounding shaken, “and I’m partially responsible.”
I did my best to reassure her. “As I said, I’m working on Danitza’s behalf and trying to keep her stepmother from robbing her father blind. It’s not exactly elder abuse, because Roger Adams isn’t that old, but I do believe that Shelley Adams is taking advantage of her husband’s somewhat limited mental capabilities. I’m not a law-enforcement officer, but if what I suspect is true, I’ll be turning my findings over to Anchorage PD at the earliest possible moment. Since it appears from the closing documents that offshore banks are involved, I suspect the FBI will be brought in as well.”
“But do you have any proof?” Tracy asked.
“I don’t,” I admitted, “not in my possession at this time, but if you still have copies of that phony ID, I’m pretty sure you do. Hold on a minute. I’ll text you a photo of Roger Adams taken from his law firm’s Web site. Take a look and let me know if the Roger Adams pictured there is the same man who came to your office.”
In the mountain of received messages from Todd Hatcher, it took a few seconds for me to locate the correct one. Once I found it, I copied it and pressed send. Moments later I heard the sound of an arriving text on Tracy’s end of the line.
Tracy’s response was instantaneous and pure gold. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “That’s not him at all! What should I do now, call the cops?”
“Where do you keep your notary files?”
“In a desk drawer at work. Why?”
“Can you get into your bank branch today?”
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m the manager.”
“If you could text me copies of Roger Adams’s supposed driver’s license, that would give me a better idea of who Shelley’s co-conspirator might be. Once I know that, I’ll have an idea of where to take this next.”
“But what about contacting law enforcement?” she said. “Shouldn’t that be done first?”
“I’m working with a Homer PD detective named Marvin Price. As soon as I have the information from you, I’ll pass it along to him. Or, if you like, I can give you his information and you can forward what you have directly to him.”
There was another moment of silence on the phone before Tracy Hamilton made up her mind. “It’ll take me about forty-five minutes to get to the office, copy the photos, and send them to you. Will that be all right?”
Her offer was way more than all right, but I was afraid that a display of too much enthusiasm on my part would spook her.
“That would be incredibly helpful, Ms. Hamilton,” I told her. “And I appreciate your help more than I can say.”
Fifty-five minutes later a text announcement pinged my phone. I was still opening the text when the phone rang.
“Is it him?” Tracy asked.
In order to see the photo more clearly, I needed to enlarge it, so I opened the text again on my iPad. As soon as I did, I recognized the face, because I had seen the guy in the photo only the day before—the husband of Shelley Adams’s cousin. She had referred to the guy as Dunk when she told me he did odd jobs for her, like keeping the wood boxes full and the vehicles running. From the photo I knew at once that his other task assignment was helping to cheat Roger Adams out of his hard-earned assets.
“No,” I said after a moment. “This guy is most definitely not the real Roger Adams.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I’ve seen him, but don’t really know him,” I answered. “His first name is Duncan. I don’t have a last name.”
“So what should I do?” Tracy asked desperately. “Who should I call?”
“Please don’t do anything or call anyone right now,” I begged. “It’s going to take law enforcement time to pull all these threads together and build a case. Based on the closing documents I’ve seen on Shelley’s real-estate dealings, these people have more than enough cash on hand to flee the country. If they have any inkling that someone is onto them, I’m afraid they’ll take off.”
“I don’t want them to get away with this,” Tracy said, “so I should just keep quiet?”