PART 4 — Evidence on the Table
The silence in the small living room was so thick you could hear a pin drop. Outside, the afterglow of New Year's still sounded in the distance, but inside, time seemed to stand still. I looked at the bowl of oliebollen sitting there dismally. My own son, from whom I had drawn so much hope, had not only shown me the door but had tried to oust me from my own inheritance through a cunning web of forged signatures and misleading care contracts.
"Houtman," I said, my voice sounding strangely calm, almost ice-cold. "What is the first step? How do we prove that power of attorney is forged?"
Houtman smiled faintly. "That's the beauty of modern technology, Thomas. Notary Veenstra is known not only for storing his archive physically but also for digitally scanning it with a timestamp and biometric signature verification. If we demand an official signature comparison through the court, it will show that your signature was copied from an older document and digitally pasted onto that power of attorney. That is open fraud."
He laid a copy of the document in front of me. I examined the signature. It looked identical to mine, but when I picked up my magnifying glass—which had been lying in the drawer for years—I saw it immediately. The curve of the 'T' in Thomas had a subtle pixel edge that only occurs with a digital copy-paste action. Sabine thought she was being clever, but she had rushed the job on New Year's afternoon.
"And regarding the care contract?" I asked. "What happens if I officially declare that they have neglected their duty?"
"The contract explicitly states that Jons and Sabine are obligated to care for your well-being, housing, and medical supervision," Houtman explained. "Last night, on December 31st around dusk, they physically denied you access to the house, yelled at you, and sent you away into the cold, even though you demonstrably needed medical care. Neighbors saw that. Mrs. De Vries from number 42 was standing behind her window and filmed the whole scene with her phone camera because she found it suspicious."
Mrs. De Vries. The old neighbor across the street who saw everything and heard everything, but with whom I always politely chatted about the hydrangeas. Her attentiveness was now my lifeline.
"Can Mrs. De Vries act as a witness?" I asked hopefully.
"Absolutely," Houtman answered decisively. "In fact, I already spoke to her this morning when I drove over here. She was furious when she heard how your son and daughter-in-law treated you. She sent the video clips directly to my secure cloud."
I felt a strange mix of relief and profound sadness flow through me. That it had come to this. That my own flesh and blood had become so thoroughly rotted by greed and status-seeking. Jons had always been susceptible to Sabine's expensive taste, but that they would go so far as to put their own father on the street on New Year's Eve to secure their embezzlements... that went beyond all bounds.
"What are we going to do now, Houtman?" I asked, standing up and walking to the window. The street was empty, save for a single broom sweeping up the firework debris.
"We wait until tomorrow morning," the lawyer said, closing his briefcase. "On January 2nd at nine o'clock, the doors of the land registry and the court open. We will immediately file a conservatory attachment on the property at Lindelaan. This means Jons and Sabine cannot sell the property, borrow against it, or extract a single cent from it until the judge's verdict. And believe me, Thomas... if they had plans right now to sell that house to pay off their bank debts—which I have heard from a reliable source—then tomorrow afternoon they will stand on the brink of absolute financial ruin."
He picked up his briefcase and shook my hand. "Enjoy your rest today, Thomas. The storm you are about to unleash will shake their world to its foundations."
After Houtman left, I remained in the silence. I walked to the kitchen, took an oliebol from the bowl, and took a bite. It tasted sweet, but the aftertaste was bitter. I decided to turn my phone back on, which had been off for twenty hours. Within seconds, the device started vibrating and popping with missed calls and messages. All from Jons.
