Chapter 4: The Buyer at My Door
I stared at the photo on my phone until the words blurred.
PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT.
Three days.
My mother had been preparing to sell my house while my wife and son were still living inside it.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t move.
Amy noticed immediately.
“Connor, what happened?””
I handed her the phone.
She looked at the image.
Then her face changed.
Not anger.
Fear.
The same fear I had seen in the kitchen.
“Is she really trying to take our home?””
I sat beside her.
“She’s trying to sell it.””
Amy covered her mouth.
“But she can’t.””
“No.””
I looked at the document again.
“She shouldn’t be able to.””
The word shouldn’t bothered me.
Because I had learned something that day.
People who believe they are entitled to something don’t always care about what they’re allowed to do.
They only care about what they can get away with.
The next morning, I called an attorney.
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Amy sitting alone in that kitchen.
I saw Frederick crying.
I saw my mother smiling in the backyard.
The attorney, Daniel Foster, met me at his office downtown.
He was a calm man in his fifties who had handled property disputes for years.
After reviewing the documents, he leaned back in his chair.
“Connor, I need you to understand something.””
“What?””
“Your mother has been very careful.””
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?””
“It means she didn’t wake up yesterday and decide to do this. She has been building a story.””
“A story?””
Daniel tapped the papers.
“A story where she is protecting family property from your wife.””
I shook my head.
“She barely knew Amy before we got married.””
“That doesn’t matter. People who want control often rewrite history.””
He pointed to the fake signature.
“This document is fraudulent. But we need to know where she got access to your information.””
I thought about it.
Then I froze.
“My old files.””
Daniel looked up.
“What files?””
“After my father died, my mother kept some of his documents. Tax records. Insurance papers. Things from when I was younger.””
“And she had access to your signature?””
I nodded.
“She always handled paperwork for me when I was a kid.””
Daniel wrote something down.
“That explains the opportunity.””
I looked out the window.
“What about the money?””
He glanced at my bank statements.
“That’s a separate issue.””
“My mother took money from us.””
“Yes.””
“Can we get it back?””
“Possibly. But first, we need to understand where it went.””
When I left his office, I had one goal.
Find the truth.
Not my mother’s version.
Not the version she told relatives.
The real one.
That evening, I returned home and found Amy sitting at the kitchen table.
There was a stack of papers in front of her.
“What are those?””
She looked up.
“Things I found in my closet.””
I walked closer.
The papers were receipts.
Hundreds of them.
Grocery purchases.
Baby items.
Medical supplies.
All paid with Amy’s credit card.
My chest tightened.
“You paid for everything?””
She nodded.
“Your mother said the money you sent her was for emergencies.””
I picked up one receipt.
A luxury handbag.
$1,800.
I looked at Amy.
“She bought this?””
Amy nodded slowly.
“She told me not to question her because you trusted her.””
I closed my eyes.
That sentence hurt.
Because my mother knew exactly what she was doing.
She used my trust as a weapon.
Later that night, while Amy slept, I sat in the living room reviewing every bank transfer.
Three thousand dollars.
Every month.
For ten months.
Thirty thousand dollars.
Gone.
Then I found something strange.
A recurring payment.
A company name I didn’t recognize.
*Hayes Family Holdings LLC.*
My name.
But I had never created a company.
I searched the records online.
And my heart stopped.
The company had been registered six months earlier.
The listed manager was not me.
It was Teresa Hayes.
My mother.
The next morning, I drove to her house.
I didn’t call.
I didn’t warn her.
When she opened the door, she smiled like nothing had happened.
“Connor.””
I looked past her.
“You created a company using my name.””
Her smile disappeared.
“You went through my things?””
“No.””
I held up my phone.
“You did.””
She stepped back.
“You don’t understand what I’m doing.””
“Then explain it.””
She sighed.
“Your father left nothing behind except debt.””
“That’s not true.””
“It is.””
Her voice hardened.
“I built everything.””
I stared at her.
“You mean my house?””
“Our family’s house.””
“No.””
My voice was quiet.
“My house.””
Her expression changed.
“You’re letting that woman turn you against me.””
I almost couldn’t believe it.
“You made my wife work in the kitchen while our baby was sick.””
“She needed discipline.””
The words hit me harder than I expected.
“Discipline?””
“Yes.””
“She’s your daughter-in-law.””
“She’s someone who married into what I built.””
I felt something inside me finally break.
My mother wasn’t confused.
She wasn’t protecting anyone.
She truly believed she owned my life.
Then she walked toward a drawer and pulled out a folder.
“You want the truth?””
She dropped it on the table.
“Here it is.””
I opened it.
Inside were printed messages.
Emails.
Private conversations.
And on the first page was a screenshot of a text message from Amy.
Except Amy had never sent it.
The message said:
*I only married Connor because of his money.*
I looked up.
“That’s fake.””
My mother smiled.
“Is it?””
Before I could answer, someone knocked on the front door.
My mother’s face changed.
She wasn’t expecting them.
I walked toward the door.
And when I opened it, I saw the person standing there holding a briefcase.
A stranger.
He looked at me.
“Are you Connor Hayes?””
“Yes.””
He handed me a business card.
“I’m representing the buyer interested in purchasing this property.””
May you like
My blood went cold.
Because behind him, parked on the street, was a moving truck.
