“Victor? But… But he can’t do anything at all without my knowledge and consent. The house is registered entirely in my name, strictly in my name.”
“Theoretically, he indeed cannot and should not,” the officer agreed slowly, deliberately. “But in practice, unfortunately, all sorts of unpleasant situations happen. Fraud, forgery of signatures and documents. Let’s be sure to check the real estate agencies in all districts. If it really was an appraiser from some agency, we will definitely find out in detail who exactly ordered this nighttime appraisal of your home.”
By lunchtime, they were already sitting in the office of the “Dom-Service” real estate agency in the city center. Grigory Petrovich had found three agencies with similar logos through a vehicle database, called them, and the third one confirmed: yes, their appraiser had been to Sadovaya Street last night. The agency director, Igor Valentinovich Gromov, a man of about 45 in an expensive suit, greeted them with an affected politeness that poorly concealed his nervousness.
“Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chairs in front of his desk. “How can I help you?”
“Yesterday, your employee visited the address Sadovaya, 17,” Grigory Petrovich began, pulling out his badge. “He was appraising the house. We’d like to know the details.”
“Sadovaya, 17…” Gromov frowned, opened a folder on his desk, and flipped through it. “Yes, that’s right. An order for the appraisal of a private house with a plot of land. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is,” Elena leaned forward, trying to speak calmly, though her hands were shaking, “that this is my house. And I never called anyone for an appraisal.”
The director raised his eyebrows.
“What do you mean? The order was placed in the owner’s name. Look here,” he turned the folder around, showing the document. “Kravchuk Viktor Mikhailovich, the client. The owner is Kravchuk Elena Alexeevna. There is a power of attorney from the owner.”
“What power of attorney?” Elena’s voice broke. “I never gave any power of attorney.”
Gromov blinked in confusion, reached back into the folder, and pulled out another sheet.
“Here, you see. A power of attorney from Kravchuk E. A. in her husband’s name, granting him the right to represent her interests in real estate transactions. Notarized.”
He handed her the document. Elena snatched the sheet, her eyes glued to it. Her name, passport details, address—all correct. At the bottom, a signature. Her signature. But she had never signed such a thing. Never.
“This is a forgery,” she whispered, feeling the room spin before her eyes. “I did not sign this.”
Grigory Petrovich took the document from her and examined it carefully.
“Igor Valentinovich, when was this power of attorney brought to you?”
“A week ago. Kravchuk Viktor Mikhailovich came in person, said he wanted to sell the house, and asked for an appraisal. We drew up all the paperwork, arranged for the visit. He said his wife was aware, she was just too busy to handle it and had entrusted it to him.”
“And you didn’t verify the authenticity of the power of attorney?” the officer looked at the director with a heavy gaze.
“We? It has a notary’s seal, everything is in order,” Gromov fidgeted in his chair. “We are not obligated to verify every power of attorney through the notary’s office, that’s not our…”
“Show me all correspondence with the client,” Grigory Petrovich interrupted him. “Everything you have. Documents, contracts, correspondence.”
The director nodded and turned to his computer. Elena sat staring at a single point. Her head was buzzing. Victor. Her husband. Had forged her signature. Wanted to sell the house. Their house. Without saying a word to her.
“Look here,” Gromov turned the monitor. “The first contact was two weeks ago. He emailed, asking about the appraisal and sale of the house. We scheduled a meeting. He came, brought the documents. We drew up a contract for the appraisal. The appraiser went, inspected the house.”
“At night,” Elena inserted in a hollow voice. “At eleven in the evening, when I was asleep. He was walking around the house, looking in the windows.”
“Well, the client specifically requested an evening time, said that someone was there during the day, and he needed to do it discreetly…” Gromov spread his hands. “We don’t refuse clients if the request doesn’t break the law…”
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