My signature was scrawled at the bottom in thick blue ink.

It looked exactly like my handwriting, but I had never signed it.

“He filed this two days ago,” Marisol said. “It gives him full control over your personal assets.”

“I didn’t sign that,” I whispered. “I was in the hospital, barely conscious.”

“I know,” Marisol said. “It’s a forgery. He probably had Stephanie notarize it, or used a corrupt contact.”

“But the bank,” I stammered. “They accepted this?”

“Yes,” Marisol said. “And because of the fraud allegations we raised, the bank has frozen everything.”

“Every single dollar?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Every checking account, every savings account, and your credit cards,” Marisol said.

I stared at her, the room suddenly spinning.

The tight skin on my hands burned.

I had less than fifty dollars in cash in my purse.

My phone buzzed in my hand, a bright notification lighting up the screen.

I looked down at the glowing screen.

It was an automated alert from my home security and smart appliance app.

The notification banner stretched across the top of my display in red letters.