Chapter 5
Camille Foster had always called me her sister.
The first time we met, she hugged me before I could even introduce myself.
“We're family now,” she said.
I believed her.
I invited her to Thanksgiving.
I sent flowers when her brother died.
When she needed help after a small house fire, I let her stay in my guest suite for two weeks.
She knew my home.
She knew the layout.
She knew where James's photographs hung.
And she knew how much the property meant to me.
Now my attorney was telling me Camille might have helped forge the documents used to take it.
I felt betrayed in a way I couldn't easily explain.
Vanessa was young.
Reckless.
Ambitious.
I had hoped some part of her behavior came from panic.
But Camille was sixty-one.
She knew better.
I called Marcus.
“Son, I need to ask you something.”
He sounded exhausted.
“Anything, Mom.”
“Did Camille know about Vanessa's business deal?”
A long silence followed.
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
My heart sank.
“How much did she know?”
“Vanessa said her mother was helping find investors.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you ever meet those investors?”
“No.”
“Did Camille ever discuss my property?”
He hesitated.
“Mom…”
“Marcus.”
“She asked once whether you planned to leave the beach house to me.”
I stared at the wall.
“When?”
“About six months ago.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said you were alive and healthy, and it wasn't her business.”
I felt a small rush of gratitude.
“Good.”
He continued.
“She laughed and said she was only thinking about the future.”
I gripped the phone.
“Marcus, I think Camille may have been involved from the beginning.”
He said nothing.
Then I heard him exhale.
“I don't know what to believe anymore.”
I softened my voice.
“Believe what the evidence shows.”
He was quiet.
Then he asked, “Mom, can I come over?”
“Of course.”
An hour later, Marcus arrived.
He looked terrible.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His black suit had been replaced by jeans and a gray T-shirt.
He sat at my kitchen table and put his head in his hands.
“I'm losing my marriage.”
I sat beside him.
“You're facing something very painful.”
He looked up.
“I keep thinking about all the signs I missed.”
“What signs?”
“The spending. The secrets. The way Vanessa got angry whenever I asked about her business.”
I listened.
“She opened a separate account last year. She said it was for company expenses.”
“Did you have access?”
“No.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I thought respecting her independence meant trusting her.”
“Trust isn't foolish, Marcus.”
“But ignoring problems can be.”
I didn't argue.
He needed to say it.
Then he looked at me.
“Mom, there's something I haven't told you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Vanessa asked me to sign a document last month.”
“What document?”
“She said it was a standard business guarantee.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
“Why not?”
“Because your address was on it.”
My heart pounded.
He continued.
“I asked why your beach house was listed as an asset. She said it was a clerical error.”
“Did you keep a copy?”
He nodded.
I felt relief.
“Bring it to Denise.”
“I already emailed it.”
I squeezed his hand.
“You did the right thing.”
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“Then why do I feel like I failed everybody?”
I moved closer.
“Because you love people who have hurt you.”
He looked down.
“And because you think love should have prevented it.”
He began crying.
I held him.
My son was forty-two.
A successful contractor.
A strong man who had always tried to protect everyone around him.
But that morning, he cried like the little boy who used to run into my arms after falling from his bicycle.
And I held him the same way.
Later that day, Camille called me.
I recognized her voice immediately.
“Evelyn, sweetheart.”
I sat straighter.
“Camille.”
“I heard there's been a terrible misunderstanding.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Vanessa is devastated.”
“So am I.”
“She's young. She made mistakes.”
“Camille, she tried to sell my home.”
Her voice became sharp.
“That's an exaggeration.”
I felt my patience disappear.
“I've seen the documents.”
“Documents can be misleading.”
“Did you help prepare them?”
Silence.
Then she laughed.
“Oh, Evelyn. Don't be ridiculous.”
I looked at the ocean.
“Did you contact a notary about obtaining her seal?”
Her breathing changed.
“Who told you that?”
I closed my eyes.
That wasn't a denial.
“Camille, I'm asking you directly.”
She lowered her voice.
“You need to be careful.”
I sat still.
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It's advice.”
“Then let me give you some.”
I gripped the phone.
“Stay away from my house.”
She laughed coldly.
“You think you can just shut us out?”
“Yes.”
“You have no idea how much money is involved.”
I felt a chill.
“Then perhaps you should explain it to the investigators.”
Her tone changed.
“Evelyn, listen to me. If this deal collapses, people will lose everything.”
I thought of the guests who paid for a vacation.
The investors who believed Vanessa's promises.
My son, whose marriage was falling apart.
Then I thought of James.
Of his letter.
Of our house.
“I won't sacrifice my home to protect people who lied to me.”
Camille became quiet.
Then she said, “You'll regret humiliating my daughter.”
The call ended.
I sat staring at the phone.
My hands were trembling.
I immediately told Denise what Camille had said.
She advised me to preserve the call record and not engage further.
That evening, I checked my security cameras.
I wanted reassurance.
Instead, I found something disturbing.
At 2:14 that afternoon, a black SUV had stopped near my driveway.
A woman stepped out.
She wore a wide-brimmed hat and dark sunglasses.
She walked toward my mailbox.
Then she placed something inside.
I hurried outside.
The mailbox contained a plain white envelope.
There was no return address.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed me sitting on my back patio the previous evening.
I was reading James's letter.
Someone had taken the photograph from beyond my property.
My stomach tightened.
On the back, someone had written:
"Sign the settlement, or the next loss will be personal."
I stood frozen.
The ocean breeze moved through the trees.
For the first time since the confrontation, I felt frightened inside my own home.
I called Marcus.
He arrived within fifteen minutes.
When he saw the photograph, his face hardened.
“Mom, you're not staying here alone tonight.”
I wanted to argue.
But I couldn't stop looking at the picture.
Someone had been watching me grieve.
Someone had stood outside the home my husband built.
Someone had decided that frightening an elderly widow was an acceptable business strategy.
Marcus took my hand.
“We're going to protect you.”
I looked at my son.
Then I looked at the house.
“No,” I said quietly.
He frowned.
“What?”
“We're going to protect all of us.”
I straightened my shoulders.
“And we're going to find out who thinks they can terrorize this family.”
Just then, Marcus's phone rang.
It was Vanessa.
He answered.
Her voice came through the speaker, shaking.
“Marcus, please don't hang up.”
He looked at me.
“What do you want?”
She began crying.
“My mother is missing.”
I felt my heart skip.
Marcus frowned.
“What?”
“Camille went to meet Adrian this afternoon. She never came home.”
The room fell silent.
Then Vanessa whispered something neither of us expected.
“She left me a message saying she was going to tell the truth about everything.”
May you like
I looked toward the photograph on my table.
And suddenly, the threat against me felt much more dangerous than an attempt to steal property.
