Part 3: The Wealth of the Dead
Part 3: The Wealth of the Dead
The pieces of my family's cold indifference began to assemble into a terrifying picture.
Two years ago, our grandfather passed away, leaving his entire estate—a multi-million-dollar real estate portfolio and the controlling shares of Mendoza Development—solely to me.
He knew my mother was a spendthrift. He knew Tessa was malicious. He trusted me to protect the legacy.
Since then, dinners at my mother's house had become an exercise in psychological warfare.
"You're keeping what belongs to the family," Tessa would whisper over wine.
"You're so greedy, Chloe. You always have been," my mother would sigh.
I had always chosen silence to protect myself from their barbs. I thought if I stayed quiet, if I gave them a generous monthly allowance, they would eventually leave me alone.
I never imagined they would try to kill me.
The door to my hospital room opened again, and Detective Miller, the officer who had taken my statement earlier, stepped inside. He looked tired, his leather jacket smelling of the rain outside.
"Miss Mendoza," Detective Miller said, pulling out a small notepad. "We executed a search warrant at your residence an hour ago based on the medical report Dr. Conner provided."
I held my breath, clutching the hospital blanket with my good hand. "What did you find?"
"In your sister’s bathroom, inside a hollowed-out hairspray can, we recovered a prescription bottle for Clozapine," Miller said flatly. "The prescription was filled four weeks ago in Phoenix. It was written under a fake name, but the pharmacy’s security footage clearly shows your sister, Tessa, paying cash for it."
"And my mother?" I asked, though a part of me already knew the answer.
"We pulled your mother's financial records," Miller replied, looking at me with genuine pity. "She signed a bridge loan with a private lender last month for three million dollars. She put your grandfather’s commercial property up as collateral."
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"But she doesn't own that property," I argued, my voice shaking. "I do."
"She forged your signature on the deed modification documents," the detective said, dropping a photocopied document onto the bed. "The loan goes into default next week. If you were dead, or legally incapacitated by a massive car accident, the estate would have automatically defaulted to her as your primary heir before the forgery could be uncovered during a standard sale."
