Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN IN MY HOUSE
For several minutes, none of us spoke.
I stared at the photograph.
The woman had her head slightly lowered.
Her hair was styled similarly to mine.
She wore a beige sweater.
And on her left hand was my wedding ring.
The photograph had been taken inside my house.
Inside the kitchen.
The same kitchen where Brandon had slapped me.
The same kitchen where his mother had screamed for him to hit me again.
My stomach twisted.
“How long has she been there?”
Caroline enlarged the image.
“We don't know.”
“Who is she?”
“We're working on it.”
Daniel stared at the photograph.
“I've seen her.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Not her exactly.”
He pointed to the woman's face.
“There was a woman at Dad's funeral.”
My heart stopped.
“You think it's the same person?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel pulled out his phone.
He had old photographs from the funeral.
We searched through them.
Then he stopped.
There she was.
Standing near the back.
The same face.
The same brown hair.
The same eyes.
Only she was younger.
My hands went cold.
“Who is she?”
Daniel zoomed in.
Then he frowned.
“I don't know.”
Caroline immediately asked for the photograph.
She contacted an investigator.
Two hours later, we had a name.
Mara Collins.
Forty-six.
Former employee of a private investigation company.
She had worked as a background researcher.
She had also been arrested six years earlier for identity fraud.
I stared at the screen.
“She looks like me.”
“Enough to fool people who aren't paying close attention,” Caroline said.
“But why would she do this?”
“We need to find out.”
The investigator traced her address.
She had moved several times.
Her current apartment was empty.
But the landlord remembered Brandon.
He had visited her.
Frequently.
I felt sick.
“How long?”
“For almost two years.”
Two years.
That meant the property scheme had been underway long before Brenda moved into our house.
The bedroom had been a trigger.
Not the beginning.
The beginning had been much earlier.
I thought about all the times Brandon had asked me to sign papers.
Insurance forms.
Bank documents.
Tax documents.
Construction paperwork.
I had trusted him.
He had known I wouldn't question him.
That trust had become his weapon.
Then something occurred to me.
“What about my mother-in-law?”
Caroline looked at me.
“Why?”
“She knew about the property.”
“Could she be involved?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Don't assume anything yet.”
But when we interviewed Brenda, everything changed.
She arrived at Caroline's office with tears in her eyes.
“I didn't know.”
I stared at her.
“Didn't know what?”
“That Brandon was doing this.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“Yes.”
“You helped move my daughter into a storage room.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Brenda looked down.
“Mom told me Hannah needed to learn humility.”
I felt anger rise.
“And you agreed.”
“I was desperate.”
“So was I.”
She started crying.
“I didn't know he was trying to take the house.”
I watched her carefully.
“What did Brandon tell you?”
“That he needed the property because he was going to refinance it.”
“Why?”
“He said you had agreed.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I never agreed.”
“I know that now.”
“Why didn't you ask me?”
She looked ashamed.
“Because Mom told me you were selfish.”
I closed my eyes.
For eighteen years, this family had slowly rewritten reality.
They had called me selfish whenever I said no.
Difficult whenever I defended Hannah.
Disrespectful whenever I disagreed.
And now I understood why.
If they could make me doubt myself, they could make me easier to control.
Brenda wiped her eyes.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Mom has a safe.”
My attention sharpened.
“Where?”
“In her bedroom.”
“What is inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because three nights ago, I saw her give Brandon an envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you see the name?”
Brenda nodded.
“Your father's name.”
My blood ran cold.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
That evening, we obtained permission to recover certain belongings from the house under legal supervision.
Mrs. Gertrude was furious.
“You're trying to destroy this family!”
I looked at her.
“You helped destroy it.”
She pointed at me.
“You were never a good wife.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I was a good wife.”
“I worked.”
“I paid bills.”
“I cared for your husband.”
“I raised your granddaughter.”
“But I stopped being a good wife the moment I stopped allowing you to control me.”
She went silent.
Brandon stood behind her.
His eyes were cold.
“You don't know what you're doing.”
“I know exactly what I'm doing.”
Then we entered the bedroom.
The safe was hidden behind a painting.
The police officer accompanying us opened it.
Inside were documents.
Cash.
A second phone.
And a folder.
The folder contained copies of my signatures.
Dozens of them.
Some from years ago.
Some recent.
I felt sick.
Caroline picked up the folder.
“This is evidence.”
Then Daniel found something underneath.
A photograph.
It showed my father.
Brandon.
And another man.
The photograph had been taken eighteen years earlier.
The year I married Brandon.
On the back was written:
THE ORIGINAL AGREEMENT.
My hands trembled.
“What agreement?”
We opened the envelope.
Inside was an old contract.
It stated that my father had given me the property on the condition that it would remain separate from any marital assets unless I voluntarily changed ownership.
But there was one handwritten addition.
A sentence added months after the original deed.
If Rebecca's husband incurs substantial business debt, the property may be used as collateral with her written consent.
I stared at it.
“That's not my father's handwriting.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
Caroline examined it.
“This was added later.”
“By whom?”
Before anyone could answer, the second phone in the safe began ringing.
Everyone froze.
May you like
The screen showed one word.
MARA.
