Chapter 3
I asked Patricia to repeat herself.
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood.
“She was where?”
“At your house,” Patricia whispered. “The day Marcus brought you the documents after surgery.”
I remembered that afternoon.
I had been lying in bed with my swollen knee elevated on pillows.
Marcus had been unusually attentive.
He brought soup.
He adjusted my blankets.
He kissed my forehead.
And he asked me to sign a few papers so he could manage things while I recovered.
I remembered a woman delivering flowers.
A tall woman with long dark hair.
I hadn't looked closely at her face.
“Vanessa delivered flowers?” I asked.
Patricia exhaled shakily.
“She worked for the legal-document service Marcus used.”
My stomach twisted.
“You're telling me the woman I saw kissing my husband helped him with those documents?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of Claire's desk.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Patricia began crying.
“Because I was involved.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Claire reached for my arm.
I pulled away.
“Involved how?”
Patricia struggled to answer.
“Marcus came to me last year. He said he wanted to invest in a fitness business with Vanessa. He promised it would be successful.”
I closed my eyes.
A fitness business.
Of course.
Marcus had spent years telling me he wanted to open a chain of personal-training studios.
I had encouraged him.
I had even offered to help develop a business plan.
But he never wanted my advice.
He only wanted money.
Patricia continued.
“He said you wouldn't understand because you were controlling.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Controlling?”
“He told me you kept him financially dependent on purpose.”
My face burned.
I had paid our mortgage.
Our household expenses.
His car payments.
His business courses.
I had encouraged him to work, invest, and build something of his own.
And somehow, he had turned my support into a story about oppression.
“What did you do?” I asked.
Patricia hesitated.
“I let him use my name on an account.”
I stared at the speaker.
“You did what?”
“He said the money was part of an investment arrangement. He told me it was legal.”
“How much did he give you?”
Silence.
“Patricia.”
“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
My chest tightened.
My own sister had accepted money from my husband behind my back.
Money that might have come from my business.
“Did you know it was mine?”
“At first, no.”
“And later?”
She began crying again.
“Later, I suspected.”
I stood.
Claire immediately rose beside me.
“Evelyn,” she said softly.
I shook my head.
“Don't.”
My sister had suspected that Marcus was taking my money.
She had received thousands of dollars.
And she had said nothing.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I asked one question.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Patricia's answer came quietly.
“Because I saw a document last week.”
“What document?”
“A property agreement. Marcus said he was going to use the house as part of a loan.”
I felt my heart slam against my ribs.
“My house?”
“Yes.”
“That house belonged to our mother.”
“I know.”
“You know how much it means to me.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn't you call me?”
She began sobbing uncontrollably.
“Because he threatened to tell you I stole the money. He said he'd make sure you believed I planned everything.”
I closed my eyes.
For years, Marcus had studied my weaknesses.
He knew I would do anything for family.
He knew how much I loved Patricia.
He knew how deeply I trusted him.
And he had apparently used those relationships to isolate me.
Claire leaned toward the phone.
“Patricia, where are the documents now?”
“I have copies.”
“Can you bring them to my office?”
“Yes.”
“Do not alter or destroy anything. Bring whatever you have.”
Patricia agreed.
After the call ended, I sat down.
My hands were numb.
Claire placed a box of tissues beside me.
I didn't take one.
I had cried enough.
“Tell me something,” I said.
Claire waited.
“Do you think Marcus ever loved me?”
Her expression softened.
“I can't know what he felt.”
I stared at the folder.
“But I know that love doesn't excuse deception.”
I nodded slowly.
Then my phone vibrated.
Marcus again.
This time, he had sent a photograph.
It showed our living room.
Several picture frames were missing from the mantel.
The message read:
“If you want to discuss our marriage like adults, come home tonight.”
I stared at the image.
“What is he doing?”
Claire leaned closer.
“Don't go there alone.”
I forwarded the message to Daniel.
He called within minutes.
“Evelyn, are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Do not confront him at the house tonight. We need to clarify your rights and the status of the financial documents before you take any action.”
I looked at Claire.
She nodded.
Daniel continued.
“I also want you to contact the bank's fraud department regarding any transactions you believe were unauthorized.”
I agreed.
“Can we stop him from selling the house?”
“We'll determine what documents exist and take whatever lawful action is available. But I need the signed paperwork.”
I remembered Marcus insisting that I leave all business matters to him during my recovery.
I remembered how pleased he looked whenever I said I was too tired to review something.
My stomach turned.
Then Daniel asked another question.
“Evelyn, did Marcus ever ask you to transfer the house into a trust or business entity?”
I froze.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That it would reduce taxes and simplify our estate planning.”
Daniel exhaled.
“Did you sign anything?”
“I don't think so.”
“Please be certain.”
I searched my memory.
Marcus had brought papers to dinner.
I had been preparing for a property inspection.
He asked me to sign.
I told him I would review them later.
He became irritated.
We argued.
Then he apologized.
I never saw the papers again.
“No,” I said firmly. “I didn't sign.”
“That's important.”
I felt a flicker of relief.
But it disappeared when Claire opened another document.
“Evelyn,” she said quietly, “there's a copy of a signature here.”
I looked down.
My name appeared at the bottom of a property authorization.
Evelyn Whitmore.
The handwriting looked like mine.
Almost.
The final letter curved differently.
I stared at it.
“I didn't sign this.”
Claire looked at Daniel's name on my phone.
“We may have another serious problem.”
My voice became a whisper.
“Someone forged my signature.”
Daniel immediately told us to preserve the document and avoid altering the file.
He said a qualified examiner might need to review the original records.
I looked at the signature again.
Then at the date.
It had been signed while I was recovering from surgery.
And directly beneath my name was another signature.
Vanessa Carter.
Witness.
I stared at the page.
The woman who had kissed my husband on our porch had apparently witnessed a document bearing my forged signature.
Then I noticed something else.
The document referred to a property transfer scheduled to become effective within thirty days.
I looked at Claire.
“What happens in thirty days?”
She turned pale.
“Evelyn, according to this document, that's when control of your house could change.”
I slowly stood.
Marcus hadn't simply betrayed me.
May you like
He was trying to take the home my mother had left me.
And if the documents were valid or accepted before anyone challenged them, I might have very little time to stop him.
