Chapter 9 - What My Father Left Behind
Dad had owned land.
A lot of it.
Not glamorous land.
No mansion.
No beach house.
Just several undeveloped parcels outside Nashville he had bought cheaply decades ago when suburban growth hadn’t reached them yet.
By the time he died, development had changed everything.
The land had become valuable.
Very valuable.
Dad had transferred it into a trust.
I was the primary beneficiary.
Teresa was temporary trustee.
But according to Marcus, her authority should have ended when I turned thirty.
Five years ago.
It never did.
“Why didn’t I know?”
Marcus slid copies across his desk.
“Your father requested annual beneficiary statements.”
“I never received them.”
“Exactly.”
Amy sat beside me.
“So Teresa kept them?”
Marcus nodded.
“She appears to have redirected all correspondence.”
My chest tightened.
“Has she been taking money?”
“We’re getting records.”
“Marcus.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Potentially hundreds of thousands.”
I leaned back.
My whole childhood rearranged itself in my head.
Mom constantly complaining Dad left her “nothing.”
Mom telling me his old investments were worthless.
Mom insisting she handled his final affairs because I was too young and grieving.
I had trusted her.
Again.
That afternoon, Detective Ortiz brought another surprise.
Mason wanted to cooperate.
“He wants a deal.”
Marcus said, “Of course he does.”
We met him in an interview room.
Mason looked terrible.
No expensive watch.
No smug grin.
No confident mortgage-broker smile.
He wouldn’t look at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I sat across from him.
“Start with facts.”
He nodded.
“Teresa came to me last year.”
“That early?”
“She said the family trust needed restructuring.”
“You knew I hadn’t approved it.”
“I knew eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“She showed me documents.”
“Forged documents.”
“I know that now.”
I almost stood.
Marcus touched my arm.
Mason continued quickly.
“At first, I believed her.”
“When did you stop believing her?”
“March.”
Six months earlier.
“And you continued.”
His eyes dropped.
“She was paying me.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five grand.”
Amy whispered, “For stealing our home?”
Mason closed his eyes.
“For building the loan package.”
I leaned forward.
“Who is Victor Lang?”
“Buyer.”
“Is he involved?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“He knew Teresa wasn’t the sole owner.”
My jaw tightened.
“How?”
“Because he told her the deal couldn’t close without Amy.”
There it was.
That blank signature line.
“What was supposed to happen at the birthday party?”
Mason rubbed his face.
“Teresa planned to keep Amy exhausted.”
Amy went still.
“She thought if Amy was overwhelmed enough…”
He couldn’t finish.
I did.
“She would sign whatever Mom put in front of her.”
Mason nodded.
“After everyone left, Teresa planned to tell her it was a refinancing paper.”
I stared at him.
“And me?”
“You weren’t supposed to come home until eight.”
“How did she know that?”
Mason looked surprised.
“She called your office.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
“Your assistant.”
I had one administrative assistant at my engineering job.
Rachel Simmons.
She had worked with me for three years.
My chest tightened.
“What did Rachel tell her?”
Mason looked confused.
“She didn’t just tell Teresa when you were coming home.”
“What else?”
“She gave her your schedule for months.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Then Mason added quietly.
May you like
“Rachel was getting paid too.”
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