Chapter 6
I didn’t sleep.
Nobody did.
At 2:13 in the morning, Rachel made coffee nobody drank.
Thomas contacted an attorney he knew.
I called our mortgage company.
Then the county property office’s emergency fraud line.
Every answer created another question.
My name should have been on the deed.
I had signed the purchase documents eleven years ago.
I had made payments from my salary.
Yet six weeks earlier, a quitclaim deed had apparently been recorded transferring my ownership interest to Michael alone.
The document carried my signature.
I had never signed it.
The notary stamp belonged to someone named Linda Harris.
I stared at the scanned copy on my laptop.
“That isn’t my signature.”
Rachel leaned closer.
“It looks like yours.”
“That’s the point.”
It did.
Not perfectly.
But close.
Close enough to fool someone who didn’t see me sign my name every day.
Thomas’s attorney, David Mercer, joined us by video call.
He was calm.
I needed calm.
“Sarah, don’t panic about the recording itself,” he said. “A forged deed is not magically valid just because it was recorded.”
“Then why is Michael saying he can sell the house?”
“Because he may be trying.”
“Can he?”
“Completing a valid sale is another question. But you need to move quickly.”
I looked toward the stairs.
Emma was finally asleep.
“What do I do?”
David outlined immediate steps.
Notify the lender.
Notify the title company if we identified one.
File a police report regarding suspected forgery and theft.
Preserve communications.
Do not sign anything.
Do not confront Michael alone.
I almost laughed at the last instruction.
Confronting Michael alone was the last thing I wanted.
At six in the morning, my phone rang from an unknown number.
I answered.
“Sarah Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Detective Lena Ortiz. I’m calling regarding a report involving suspected financial theft and property fraud.”
Rachel looked at me.
I put the call on speaker.
Apparently the bank had flagged Michael’s attempted transfer and connected it to the report I filed overnight.
Detective Ortiz asked me to come in later that morning.
“I’ll be there.”
Before she ended the call, she said, “One more thing. Do you know a Linda Harris?”
“No.”
“Has your husband ever mentioned that name?”
“No.”
“All right. Don’t contact her.”
That immediately made me curious.
“Why?”
“I’d rather discuss it in person.”
At eight, Emma woke.
She walked into the kitchen holding her stuffed rabbit.
“Are we going home today?”
The question hurt.
I pulled her into my lap.
“Not today.”
“Is Daddy there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Grandma?”
“I don’t know.”
She was quiet.
Then:
“Are you and Daddy getting divorced?”
Every adult in the room stopped moving.
I turned Emma toward me.
“I don’t know yet.”
That was the truth.
Part of me already knew.
But children deserve answers shaped by certainty, not adult rage.
Emma looked down.
“Would I still see Daddy?”
“If it’s safe and good for you, we’ll figure out how.”
She nodded.
Then whispered, “I don’t want Grandma there.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
Emma’s eyes immediately filled with tears.
“She gets mad when Daddy leaves.”
I froze.
“What does that mean?”
Emma looked toward Rachel.
Then back at me.
“She says things.”
“What things?”
Emma twisted one ear of the stuffed rabbit.
“She says you make Daddy weak.”
I took a slow breath.
“What else?”
“She says if you go away, everything will be easier.”
Rachel’s face hardened.
“Did she ever tell you she wanted Mommy to go away?”
Emma nodded.
My stomach turned.
“What exactly did she say?”
Emma looked frightened.
“I don’t remember.”
“That’s okay.”
I hugged her.
“You’re not in trouble.”
She whispered into my shoulder.
“One time she said Daddy should have picked Rebecca.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
I looked over Emma’s head at Thomas.
He looked equally confused.
“Picked Rebecca for what?” I asked.
Emma shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
Carol had said it?
Daddy should have picked Rebecca.
It made no sense.
Not if Rebecca was Michael’s sister.
At ten, I went to the police station with Rachel.
Thomas stayed with Emma and Daniel.
Detective Ortiz was younger than I expected.
Maybe forty.
Sharp eyes.
No wasted movements.
She photographed my cheek.
Took the bank receipt.
The screenshots.
The forged deed.
Account statements.
Then she asked me to describe Carol taking the cash.
I did.
“What proof do you have that the cash in the drawer was yours?”
“Withdrawal records. I took it out gradually from my personal account.”
“Why cash?”
“Emma’s hospital required an initial payment, and I was also negotiating one medical bill. I know keeping that amount at home wasn’t ideal.”
She nodded without judgment.
“And only you knew it was there?”
I hesitated.
“Michael knew.”
“How?”
“I told him.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
She wrote something.
“Did Carol know?”
“Not from me.”
Detective Ortiz leaned back.
“Tell me about Rebecca Collins.”
I explained everything.
She listened.
Then she asked the question I had been waiting for.
“Why did Emma say Michael knows her?”
I told her about the meetings.
The secrecy.
The genetic condition.
When I mentioned Thomas, Detective Ortiz’s expression changed slightly.
“You spoke with him?”
“He’s with my daughter right now.”
She stopped writing.
“Is he trustworthy?”
The question surprised me.
“I don’t know him well enough to answer that.”
“Good.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you should keep asking questions.”
I stared at her.
“Do you know something about Thomas?”
“I know everybody in a financial-fraud situation becomes a potential source of information until facts are verified.”
Fair.
She turned a page.
“Now Linda Harris.”
“Yes.”
Detective Ortiz slid a printed photograph across the table.
A woman in her late fifties.
Blonde hair.
Friendly smile.
I had seen her before.
I knew I had.
Then it hit me.
“Carol’s friend.”
“Where have you seen her?”
“At Christmas.”
“What year?”
“Last year. Maybe the year before too.”
“Was she introduced as Linda?”
“No.”
“What name?”
I searched my memory.
“Lindy.”
Ortiz nodded.
“Linda Harris holds an active notary commission.”
My chest tightened.
“She notarized the forged deed.”
“Yes.”
“Is she involved?”
“We’re investigating.”
I covered my face.
This was becoming impossible.
A stolen surgery fund.
A secret sister.
A forged deed.
A fake business.
I lowered my hands.
“Detective, what does Michael need all this money for?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Could it be gambling?”
“Could be many things.”
“Drugs?”
“Again, many possibilities.”
Then she leaned forward.
“But his urgency last night matters.”
I nodded.
“He said something would happen if he didn’t pay.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’s in danger?”
“I think you should assume his decisions are unpredictable until we know more.”
That scared me more than a simple yes.
After the interview, Rachel and I drove toward her house.
Halfway there, my phone rang.
Emma.
I answered immediately.
“Sweetheart?”
She was whispering.
“Mommy?”
I sat straighter.
“What’s wrong?”
“Daddy’s here.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
Rachel instantly made a U-turn.
Emma whispered, “He’s outside Uncle Daniel’s house.”
“Where are you?”
“Upstairs.”
“Is Uncle Daniel with you?”
“Yes.”
I could hear Daniel in the background telling someone through the door to leave.
Then pounding.
Hard.
Michael shouted.
“Sarah! I know you’re there!”
Emma gasped.
“Mommy.”
“I’m coming.”
More pounding.
Then silence.
A second later, Daniel came on the phone.
“Sarah, he left.”
“Where?”
“He drove off.”
“Did he get inside?”
“No.”
“Call the police.”
“Already did.”
I gripped the phone.
Then Emma’s voice returned.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Daddy looked hurt.”
My anger cracked.
“Hurt how?”
“There was blood on his shirt.”
I looked at Rachel.
She heard.
“Where?”
Emma whispered:
“His hands.”
We reached Rachel’s house fifteen minutes later.
Police were already there.
Daniel showed them security camera footage.
Michael arrived at 10:47.
Pounded on the door.
Shouted my name.
His right hand was wrapped in what looked like a torn piece of fabric.
Blood had soaked through it.
Then he looked directly at the doorbell camera.
And said something the microphone barely captured.
Detective Ortiz arrived while we replayed it.
She boosted the volume on Daniel’s phone.
Michael’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Tell Sarah I didn’t mean for him to fall.”
The room became completely still.
Detective Ortiz looked at me.
“Who is ‘him’?”
I shook my head.
“I have no idea.”
Her phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Then her expression changed.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“When?”
She hung up.
“Sarah, Thomas is here?”
I nodded.
“He was.”
Daniel looked toward the kitchen.
“He left about thirty minutes ago. Said he had to meet someone.”
Ortiz’s face tightened.
“Call him.”
I did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Detective Ortiz turned to one of the officers.
“Get units to the Bennett property.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
Ortiz looked at me.
“A man matching Thomas Bennett’s description was found injured at his home.”
My breath stopped.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca called me at that exact moment.
I answered.
She was sobbing.
“Sarah.”
“What happened?”
“Michael was at Dad’s house.”
My eyes closed.
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know. Dad won’t tell me.”
“Where are you?”
“The hospital.”
Detective Ortiz held out her hand for the phone.
Before I passed it to her, Rebecca said one more thing.
“Sarah, the police found your money.”
I froze.
“What?”
“All of it.”
“Where?”
May you like
Her answer made the entire room disappear around me.
“In Michael’s car.”
