Chapter 6: The Deed Beneath the Floorboards
At six the next morning, I left the house carrying my backpack, the blue envelope, and the photograph of my mother.
I hadn't slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Vanessa demanding money and Dad admitting he'd used my inheritance. Every time a car passed my window, I wondered whether the driver was the person from the dark sedan.
I took a rideshare to a twenty-four-hour diner three miles away and waited until Margaret's office opened.
At 8:15, she called.
“Emily, I've reviewed what I could find in my records. Can you come in now?””
“I'm on my way.””
Her office occupied the second floor of an old brick building downtown. The waiting room smelled of coffee and paper, and a receptionist led me into a room lined with bookshelves.
Margaret stood when I entered.
She was in her late sixties, with silver hair and dark-rimmed glasses. The moment she saw the photograph in my hand, her expression softened.
“Your mother kept a copy of that picture in her office,” she said.
I swallowed.
“You knew her well?””
“For nearly fifteen years. She was one of the most careful people I ever worked with.””
Margaret gestured toward a chair.
“Sit down, Emily. Let's look at what you found.””
I placed the envelope on her desk.
She examined the trust summary, the letter, and the photocopied signatures. Then she removed a folder from a filing cabinet and laid several documents beside mine.
“I kept copies of some correspondence,” she explained.
“I never imagined I'd be showing these to you under circumstances like this.””
She opened the folder.
The first page was a letter from my mother, dated two months before her death.
Margaret,
Michael says the money has been transferred temporarily to protect it from creditors. He assures me that every dollar will be returned. But I have discovered transactions I never authorized, and I no longer believe the situation is under control.
My throat tightened.
“Mom knew Dad was taking the money?””
“She suspected he was moving assets without following the trust agreement. She wanted me to investigate.””
“Why didn't you?””
“I did. But before I could complete the review, Eleanor became too ill to continue meeting with me. After her death, Michael told me the trust had been settled and that you had received everything due to you.””
“I never received anything.””
“I know that now.””
Margaret placed another document in front of me.
“This is a copy of the original trust schedule. It lists the assets your mother placed into the trust.””
I scanned the page.
Investment accounts.
A small commercial property.
And our family home.
I looked up.
“The house really was hers?””
“According to this schedule, she transferred her ownership interest into the trust before she died. We need the current deed and any later amendments to establish exactly what happened afterward.””
“But Dad told me it belonged to him.””
“He may have believed that. Or he may have known otherwise.””
I thought of the missing photographs, the disappearing belongings, and Vanessa's determination to make me sign away any claim to the property.
“Can Vanessa take the house?””
“Not simply by demanding rent or asking you to sign a paper. But a person can create serious problems by filing false documents, transferring assets improperly, or persuading someone to sign away rights they don't understand.””
I showed Margaret the agreement Vanessa had given me.
She read it carefully.
“This is not a simple rental agreement,” she said.
“It includes a broad release of any claims you might have against the property. You were right not to sign it.””
My phone vibrated.
A message from the unknown number.
*Daniel will meet you at the old bank branch at noon. Bring Margaret. He has the original ledger.*
I showed her the message.
She studied it.
“Do you know who this person is?””
“No.””
“Then we won't meet Daniel until we've verified that the invitation is genuine.””
She picked up her office phone and called a number from her records.
After several minutes, she hung up.
“Daniel Price worked with the bank that administered some of your mother's investments. I haven't spoken to him in years, but I have a professional contact who may be able to confirm where he is now.””
“Will he know what happened to the money?””
“He may. But we need evidence, not assumptions.””
Margaret made two more calls. By ten o'clock, she had arranged for a colleague to verify Daniel's identity and contact him through an official channel.
While we waited, she pulled out a map of Atlanta and asked me about the house.
I described the rooms, the garden, the garage, and the old wooden floorboards in the upstairs hallway.
“Did your mother ever mention a safe or a place where she kept important documents?””
I thought carefully.
“There's a loose floorboard outside her old bedroom. Dad used to fix it every year, but it always came loose again.””
Margaret leaned forward.
“Was it there before your mother died?””
“Yes. When I was little, I once found a little metal box underneath it. Mom took it away and told me it was a secret grown-ups had to keep.””
Margaret exchanged a look with her colleague, who had joined us by then.
“Did you ever see the box again?””
“No.””
“Emily, I don't want you going back into the house alone to investigate. If there are documents hidden there, we should handle this carefully. Your father and Vanessa both know you've found the envelope.””
I agreed.
But as we prepared to leave for a meeting with Daniel, my phone rang.
Dad's name appeared on the screen.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?””
“Emily, where are you?””
“I'm safe.””
“Your stepmother says you've taken family documents and are threatening to ruin us.””
I closed my eyes.
“I'm trying to find out what happened to Mom's trust.””
“I know.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
His breathing grew uneven.
“I can't explain everything over the phone.””
“You've said that before.””
“Please, just come home. Vanessa is furious, and she's talking about calling the police.””
“Why?””
“She says you stole money from her office.””
My stomach dropped.
“I haven't been in her office.””
“She says she has evidence.””
I looked at Margaret, who had begun taking notes.
“Dad, is that true?””
“I don't know what she's talking about.””
“Then why are you calling me instead of telling her to stop?””
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he whispered, “Because she has something I signed.””
“What did you sign?””
“A document about the house.””
My fingers went cold.
“What document?””
“I thought it was a refinancing agreement. She told me it was necessary to protect the property from my business creditors.””
“Dad, did you transfer the house to her?””
“I don't know. I didn't read every page.””
Margaret's expression hardened.
“Ask him for a copy,” she mouthed.
“Dad, I need to see that document.””
“I'll try to find it.””
“Try?””
“Vanessa keeps the files locked away.””
I heard a door slam on his end of the call.
Then Vanessa's voice cut through the background.
“Who are you talking to?””
Dad lowered his voice.
“Emily.””
There was a pause.
Then Vanessa shouted, “Give me the phone!””
The call disconnected.
I stared at the screen.
Margaret reached across the desk and placed a hand over my trembling fingers.
“We'll establish what was signed,” she said.
“And if someone transferred property without proper authority, we'll address it through the legal process.””
I wanted to believe her.
Then another message appeared from the unknown number.
This time, it contained a photograph of a deed.
The property address was my childhood home.
The transfer date was six months earlier.
And the grantee's name was Vanessa Cole.
Beneath the photograph, the sender had written:
*Your mother didn't just leave you a house, Emily. She left you the right to stop Vanessa from selling it.*
I stared at the screen as Margaret reached for her reading glasses.
Because at the bottom of the deed, beneath the names of the witnesses, was a signature that didn't look like my father's.
May you like
It looked like my mother's.
And the document had been signed nearly seven years after her death.
