Chapter 3 - The Night Someone Entered My Father's House
I drove to the duplex faster than I ever had in my life.
Every red light felt like an insult.
Every unanswered call to Marcus made my chest tighter.
I called 911 on the way.
I gave the dispatcher the address and explained that someone had broken into the property.
Then I called Marcus again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
By the time I reached Brighton Cove, police lights were flashing across the windows of Dad's old house.
I nearly abandoned my car in the middle of the street.
An officer stopped me at the gate.
"Sir, stay behind the line."
"My brother is inside!"
"Your name?"
"Ethan Walker. I own this property."
The officer's expression softened.
"Your brother is safe. He's speaking with another officer."
My legs nearly gave out.
"Where?"
He pointed toward an ambulance.
Marcus sat on the rear step.
Blood trickled from a small cut near his eyebrow.
His gray sweatshirt was torn at the shoulder.
When he saw me, he stood.
I crossed the yard and wrapped my arms around him.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I pulled back.
"What happened?"
Marcus swallowed.
"I heard something upstairs. I thought it might be an animal."
"An animal?"
"I didn't know somebody was inside."
He lowered his eyes.
"I went up to check."
I stared at the cut on his face.
"Marcus."
"I know. Stupid."
I put a hand on his shoulder.
"Just tell me."
He explained that he had found the upstairs bedroom door open.
Someone was searching through Dad's old filing cabinet.
When Marcus shouted, a man wearing dark clothes pushed past him.
Marcus stumbled into the doorframe.
The intruder escaped through the back stairs.
"Did you see his face?"
"Not clearly."
"Anything?"
Marcus hesitated.
"He was carrying a black leather bag."
My stomach tightened.
Dad kept his important papers in a leather document case.
I turned toward the house.
A detective approached us.
"I'm Detective Olivia Reed."
She had a calm voice and observant eyes.
"We're collecting evidence. Are you aware of anything that might explain why someone targeted this property?"
I looked at Marcus.
Then at the house.
I could have told her about the affair.
I could have explained the recording.
Instead, I said the most important thing first.
"I think someone is trying to steal my house."
Detective Reed studied my expression.
"Tell me everything."
We spent the next hour explaining what had happened.
I showed her the recording from Maya's apartment.
I showed her the photographs of the forged documents.
I told her about Caleb Ross.
She didn't interrupt.
When I finished, she asked, "Have you confronted either of them?"
"No."
"Good. Don't."
Marcus looked furious.
"You mean these people planned this while pretending to love my brother?"
I nodded.
His jaw tightened.
"I'm going to her apartment."
I grabbed his arm.
"No, you're not."
"Ethan—"
"That's exactly what they want. Somebody angry enough to make a mistake."
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then he stepped back.
Detective Reed promised to forward the documents to the financial crimes unit.
But she warned me that stopping a property transfer would require immediate legal action.
Grace had already given me the name of an attorney.
Rebecca Lane.
She had worked on complicated real estate fraud cases for more than fifteen years.
At 7:30 the next morning, Marcus and I were sitting in her office.
Rebecca was in her early forties, with sharp eyes and a manner that made every sentence feel deliberate.
She listened without smiling.
When I showed her the forged notarization, she leaned forward.
"Where is the original document?"
"At Maya's apartment."
"Don't go back for it."
She turned to her computer.
"We need to notify the title company and recording office immediately, file a fraud alert, and seek emergency protection against any attempted conveyance."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Can we stop it?"
"We can act quickly. I won't promise the outcome until we know what's already been submitted."
That honesty frightened me more than reassurance would have.
Rebecca contacted the title company.
The employee on the phone confirmed a scheduled closing review that afternoon.
The listed seller was Ethan Walker.
The buyer was Harborstone Development Group.
The proposed sale price was $485,000.
And the transaction included instructions to send the proceeds to an account I had never heard of.
I felt physically sick.
Rebecca asked for a copy of the file.
The employee said she would need authorization from the fraud department.
Rebecca's voice remained steady.
"My client disputes every signature on this transaction."
Then she began preparing formal notices.
Marcus sat beside me, his knee bouncing.
"How much is the duplex actually worth?"
Rebecca looked at the assessment Grace had provided.
"Possibly close to nine hundred thousand dollars, depending on its condition and current market."
I stared at her.
Nine hundred thousand.
Dad had never told us.
Marcus let out a broken laugh.
"All those years, he kept telling us not to worry about money."
I shook my head.
"It wasn't about the money."
And it wasn't.
That house was where Dad taught me to ride a bicycle.
Where Marcus broke his arm trying to jump off the porch.
Where Mom made pancakes every Sunday before cancer took her away.
The walls held our family.
And somebody wanted to turn those memories into a deposit.
My phone vibrated.
Maya.
"Good morning, handsome. We still on for lunch?"
I stared at the words.
Handsome.
As though nothing had happened.
As though I hadn't seen another man leaving her bedroom.
As though she wasn't arranging to steal my inheritance.
Rebecca noticed my expression.
"Her?"
I nodded.
"Don't reveal what you know," she said. "If you reply, keep it ordinary. We need to preserve communications."
I typed carefully.
"What time?"
Her answer came immediately.
"One o'clock. I have something important for us to discuss."
Then another message arrived.
"And Ethan? Please bring your driver's license."
Marcus leaned over my shoulder.
He swore under his breath.
Rebecca photographed the messages for the file.
Then she looked at me.
"She may be trying to complete the identity verification."
I swallowed.
"What should I say?"
"Nothing more for now."
At eleven, Grace arrived with another folder.
She looked exhausted.
But her expression changed when Rebecca introduced herself.
"Thank goodness," Grace whispered.
Rebecca reviewed the documents.
Then Grace handed over an old letter.
It was sealed in a faded blue envelope.
My father's handwriting covered the front.
"To Ethan, when the time is right."
I stared at it.
Grace placed a hand over mine.
"Daniel gave me this before he died. He told me to keep it until I was certain someone had come after the property."
My throat closed.
"Why didn't you give it to me sooner?"
"Because I was afraid. Richard's people destroyed my career once. I didn't know whom to trust."
I opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a three-page letter.
The first line made my eyes blur.
"My son, if you're reading this, then the people I feared have finally shown themselves."
I pressed the paper against the desk.
Marcus moved closer.
I continued reading.
Dad wrote about Richard Ross.
About missing money.
About how the partnership had been destroyed.
But near the bottom of the second page, he wrote something else.
Something that made Marcus grab my arm.
"Remember the old workshop behind the duplex. What I couldn't trust to lawyers, I left where only my boys would think to look."
Below that sentence were four words.
"Under your mother's garden."
I stared at my brother.
He stared back.
Our mother had planted a small rose garden beside Dad's workshop.
And for eighteen years, neither of us had touched it.
Rebecca looked between us.
"What does that mean?"
I folded the letter.
"I think Dad left us something."
Marcus stood.
"Then we need to find it."
I looked at the clock.
Twelve fifteen.
Maya expected me at one.
Someone had already broken into Dad's house.
And whatever my father had hidden was important enough that people were willing to destroy our lives to find it.
May you like
I put the letter in my pocket.
"Before we do anything," I said, "we make sure nobody gets there first."
