Chapter 6 - The Inside Man
By noon, my kitchen had become a war room.
Marcus handled the legal filings.
Caleb worked on the company accounts.
I changed passwords until my fingers hurt.
Amy stayed upstairs with Frederick while I tried to understand how deeply we had been compromised.
Then Caleb found the answer.
“Connor.”
His voice came through my laptop speaker.
“I found the login.”
“What login?”
“The company email administrator.”
He shared his screen.
An unfamiliar device had accessed our system six times in the previous month.
The IP address traced back to an office building in Brentwood.
I recognized the address.
Mason’s mortgage brokerage.
I leaned back.
“Son of a…”
Marcus held up a hand.
“Document everything.”
Caleb clicked again.
“There’s more.”
The account had downloaded client lists.
Contract templates.
Tax files.
Copies of my electronic signature.
Even an old scan of my driver’s license.
Mason didn’t need to steal my company folder yesterday.
He’d already taken what he wanted electronically.
The physical folder was cleanup.
Marcus called the detective assigned to the case.
Twenty minutes later, Detective Lena Ortiz arrived.
She was small, calm, and spoke in a way that made every question feel like it had already been asked twice somewhere else.
“Your mother claims this is a misunderstanding.”
“Of course she does.”
“Mason says Teresa believed you gave her permission.”
“For what?”
“He’s vague.”
“Because he’s lying.”
Ortiz didn’t disagree.
She opened her notebook.
“There’s another issue.”
I waited.
“Victor Lang denies knowing the deed was fraudulent.”
Marcus asked, “Did he make an offer?”
“He says there were preliminary conversations.”
“Money exchanged?”
Ortiz looked at me.
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
My stomach tightened.
“To whom?”
“Teresa Bradley.”
Amy had come downstairs without me hearing her.
She stood on the last step.
“My mother-in-law was paid fifty thousand dollars for our house?”
Ortiz nodded.
“A deposit.”
Amy stared at me.
Then she laughed bitterly.
“She made me serve shrimp she bought with the deposit from selling my kitchen.”
Nobody knew what to say to that.
Ortiz continued.
“Mr. Lang says he believed Teresa controlled the property through a family trust.”
“There is no family trust.”
“We know.”
Marcus frowned.
“Did Teresa fabricate one?”
Ortiz closed her notebook.
“We’re trying to determine that.”
Then Amy spoke.
“There is a trust.”
Every head turned.
I stared at her.
“What?”
She disappeared upstairs.
She returned holding a small white binder from Frederick’s nursery.
“This came after Frederick was born.”
She handed it to Marcus.
“I thought it was for his college savings.”
Marcus opened it.
The first page read:
BRADLEY FAMILY LEGACY TRUST.
My name appeared as grantor.
Teresa Bradley appeared as trustee.
I felt dizzy.
“I never created this.”
Marcus flipped pages quickly.
Then he stopped.
“Connor.”
“What?”
“This signature is notarized.”
“So?”
“So a forged signature plus a false notary is a much bigger problem.”
Ortiz leaned closer.
“Who is the notary?”
Marcus read the name.
“Elaine Porter.”
Amy gasped.
I looked at her.
“Who’s Elaine Porter?”
“My mother’s friend.”
I knew her.
She had been at the birthday party.
She was the woman who had hugged me every Christmas for ten years.
Detective Ortiz pulled out her phone.
Then she paused.
“There’s another signature.”
I looked down.
It was Amy’s.
She shook her head immediately.
“That isn’t mine.”
Below it was a date.
Three weeks after Frederick’s birth.
A time when Amy had barely been sleeping.
A time when Teresa had started “helping.”
Marcus turned to the next page.
Then he went still.
“What?”
He looked at us.
According to the trust, if Amy and I became temporarily incapacitated, financially incompetent, or separated, Teresa could assume management of family property for Frederick’s benefit.
Amy whispered, “She’s been telling everyone I’m unstable.”
I finally understood.
This wasn’t just about forging a deed.
My mother had been building a story.
A story where Amy was unfit.
I was financially reckless.
Our marriage was collapsing.
And Teresa was the responsible grandmother stepping in to save her grandson.
Then Detective Ortiz’s phone rang.
She listened.
Her eyes narrowed.
“When?”
She looked directly at me.
After hanging up, she said, “Your mother just posted bail.”
I stood.
Ortiz wasn’t finished.
May you like
“And she’s gone.”
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