Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE THAT WASN'T HERS
The call ended.
Nobody spoke.
Brandon looked as stunned as I felt.
“My name was forged?”
I nodded.
“And mine.”
He sat down.
“I never signed anything.”
“I believe you.”
“But why would someone put my name on a property deed?”
I looked at the ledger.
“Because they needed someone who looked connected to the transaction.”
Victor nodded.
“Exactly.”
My father stared at the floor.
“How many properties?”
Victor answered.
“Seven that we know of.”
My mother looked at him.
“And Abigail's name?”
“Four.”
I felt sick.
“Four properties?”
“Yes.”
“Worth how much?”
Victor gave me a number.
I didn't speak.
The properties were worth hundreds of millions combined.
Suddenly Charlotte's ridiculous stories about being a wealthy businessman's wife felt much less ridiculous.
Someone had needed her husband to appear connected to wealth.
Someone had needed Brandon's name.
Someone had needed mine.
And Charlotte had unknowingly helped create the perfect cover.
A successful businessman.
A wealthy wife.
A glamorous lifestyle.
None of it had to be true.
It only had to look believable.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Charlotte.
I found the original folder.
Then another.
Someone is outside my house.
I stood.
“We're going.”
My father grabbed his coat.
“No.”
“I have to help her.”
“Abby, this is exactly what they want.”
“Then they shouldn't have involved her.”
Brandon stood.
“I'm coming.”
My father looked at him.
“You're not going alone.”
Within minutes, we were on the road.
Charlotte lived in a modest neighborhood.
Nothing like the mansion she had described.
When we arrived, the front door was open.
Brandon ran inside.
“Charlotte!”
No answer.
We searched every room.
She wasn't there.
My heart sank.
Then I saw something on the kitchen counter.
A bracelet.
Gold.
Charlotte's.
Beside it was a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
She went willingly.
Brandon's face went white.
“What does that mean?”
I looked at him.
“I don't know.”
Victor took the note.
“Don't touch anything else.”
I walked toward the window.
Outside, across the street, a parked car sat with its lights off.
The driver was gone.
Brandon recognized it.
“That belongs to Charlotte.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then she left in her own car.”
We checked the driveway.
The car was gone.
No broken door.
No struggle.
No blood.
Nothing.
That meant she had left willingly.
But why?
Then my phone rang.
Charlotte.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
Her voice was quiet.
“I'm safe.”
“Where?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Charlotte, someone is using you.”
“I know.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then come home.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because they have something.”
“What?”
She started crying.
“A recording.”
My stomach dropped.
“What recording?”
“Your father.”
I looked at my father.
“What did he say?”
“I don't know.”
“You heard it?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
She took a shaky breath.
“He said the money should be moved before Daniel finds out.”
My father closed his eyes.
I stared at him.
“Dad?”
He shook his head.
“I never said that.”
Charlotte continued.
“They showed me the recording.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Who showed it to you?”
“I never saw his face.”
My voice hardened.
“Charlotte, listen to me. If they have you, stay calm.”
“They don't have me.”
“Then why are you hiding?”
“Because I finally understand.”
“Understand what?”
“They didn't choose Brandon because he was useful.”
She paused.
“They chose me because I was easy to control.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Charlotte had been vain.
Insecure.
Status-conscious.
But someone had studied her.
They knew exactly what she wanted.
Then used it.
“Charlotte,” I said carefully, “what did you promise them?”
Silence.
“Charlotte?”
“I gave them something.”
“What?”
“The red ledger.”
My heart stopped.
“Where is it?”
“I don't have it anymore.”
I looked at Victor.
He had gone completely still.
“Who has it?”
“I don't know.”
“Charlotte, tell me where you left it.”
“I didn't leave it.”
“What?”
“I gave it to someone.”
“Who?”
She whispered,
“Your brother.”
I froze.
“My brother?”
“Daniel.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Daniel is dead.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“He's alive.”
I stared at the phone.
Behind me, my father whispered,
“That isn't possible.”
Charlotte continued.
“I saw him.”
“Where?”
“At the old warehouse.”
My father moved toward me.
“Abby, don't believe this.”
But Charlotte was crying now.
“He told me to tell you something.”
“What?”
“He said…”
She paused.
Then whispered:
“Your father never betrayed you.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
My father looked at me.
“I told you Daniel was dead.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
Victor's face was pale.
“I said Daniel died.”
My father stared at him.
“You told me he died.”
“I said what I believed.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Victor looked at me.
“Abigail, your uncle Daniel did have cancer.”
“So?”
“He underwent treatment.”
“And?”
“He was alive four years ago.”
My father stepped forward.
“Victor.”
“I saw him.”
“Where?”
Victor hesitated.
Then reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a photograph.
It showed an older man standing beside a warehouse.
His face was thinner.
His hair gray.
But I knew him.
Daniel.
On the back was today's date.
My hands shook.
“He was alive this morning.”
My father staggered backward.
“Where is he?”
Victor looked at me.
“I don't know.”
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed Daniel sitting inside a car.
Alive.
And beside him was Charlotte.
The message underneath contained only four words:
May you like
Bring Abigail. Come alone.
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