I dialed the Illinois Secretary of State Index Department, requesting the contact directory for active Kane County notaries. The operator transferred me to the verification registry, where an automated clerk read off the registered business line for Ramos Notary Services in Aurora.
I pressed call as the boarding line moved forward. A woman answered on the third ring. "Ramos Notary Services."
"Evelyn Ramos?"
"Yes, speaking."
"My name is Claire Miller. I am looking at a Cook County deed transfer stamped with your commission seal yesterday afternoon at 4:18 PM, transferring 418 South Grove Avenue to an investment trust."
A brief hesitation drifted through the receiver. "Yes, Ms. Miller. I remember that transaction. It was processed through the SecureSign remote portal."
"I was running a structural review on an elementary school in Evanston yesterday at 4:18 PM," I said, stepping past the gate agent and scanning my boarding pass. "I have nine witnesses, a signed municipal sign-in sheet, and time-stamped project photos proving I was fifty miles away from a computer. Who appeared on your screen?"
"Ms. Miller, the portal verifies identities through automated credential analysis," Ramos said, her tone suddenly defensive. "The user uploaded a color scan of an Illinois driver's license matching your name and birth date, and completed biometric facial verification through a web camera."
"My passport and license were renewed six years ago," I said, walking down the jet bridge into the narrow fuselage of the aircraft. "Did the person on camera match the photograph on file, or did they use a prerecorded loop?"
"The software approved the match score at ninety-one percent," Ramos said, her voice losing its confidence. "Your husband, Mr. Miller, scheduled the remote closing session. He was present in the frame. He stated you were suffering from laryngitis and had authorized him to handle the verbal declarations while you confirmed the digital signature."
"You allowed a man to speak for me while an unauthorized image was fed through a software filter?" I demanded, sliding into seat 7C and pulling the belt tight across my lap. "That is felony falsification of a public conveyance record under Illinois law. If you do not pull that session log and send me the uncompressed video file within thirty minutes, my first call after we touch down in Chicago will be to the State’s Attorney’s Financial Crimes Bureau."
"Ms. Miller, please," Ramos said, panic finally breaking through her professional facade. "The portal archives all video sessions on a secure server for ten years. I didn't verify the bypass myself; the platform cleared the credentials automatically. If there was fraud, I was misled by the system."
"Then download the complete raw session recording, the IP address log, and the transaction metadata, and email them to my private address immediately," I said. "Because if those records disappear before I reach Cook County, you will be named as a co-conspirator in federal wire fraud."
"I'm opening the portal archive right now," she stammered. "I will export the raw file and send the link."
The call ended just as the flight attendant instructed passengers to switch devices to airplane mode. I engaged the onboard wireless network immediately, refusing to surrender my window of visibility.
Three minutes into our ascent over eastern Colorado, an incoming text message appeared on my screen from David.
Hope the pitch with Keller goes well, honey. Just landed in Dallas. Heavy traffic on the loop. Phone battery is low, so I might be dark until dinner. Love you.