Chapter 6 - The House That Wasn't Mine
The next morning, Thomas arrived at our house with a locksmith.
He was carrying a folder.
And he had the nerve to smile.
I watched through the security camera as he walked up the driveway in a navy suit, speaking into his phone.
Two men followed him.
One carried a toolbox.
The other wore a jacket bearing the logo of a local property maintenance company.
I opened the front door before they reached it.
“Good morning, Thomas.”
His smile vanished.
“Rose. I thought you'd be at work.”
“I changed my schedule.”
He glanced at the men.
“Give us a minute.”
They retreated toward the driveway.
Thomas stepped closer.
“We need to settle this.”
“Through a locksmith?”
“I'm changing the locks.”
“On what authority?”
He lifted the folder.
“On the authority of the property trust.”
I looked at the document.
The Whitaker Family Property Trust.
My name.
His signature.
A document I had never seen until Sarah sent it to me.
“Thomas, your attorney should have explained that a disputed deed doesn't give you permission to lock me out of my home.”
He laughed.
“You've been talking to Sarah again.”
“Yes.”
“She's filling your head with nonsense.”
“Then you won't mind explaining why the deed was notarized by a dead man.”
His face went blank.
For one extraordinary second, I saw him lose control of his expression.
Then he recovered.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“His name was Harold Benson. He died in 2021. The deed is dated 2024.”
Thomas looked toward the driveway.
“You're making accusations you can't prove.”
“That's why we're asking the authorities to investigate.”
He stepped toward me.
“You reported me?”
“I reported a potentially forged property document.”
His jaw tightened.
“Do you understand what you're doing to our family?”
I stared at him.
“Our family?”
“Yes, Rose. Our family.”
“You mean the family you were planning to abandon after my bonus arrived?”
He looked away.
I continued.
“Or the family you were discussing with Jessica? Or Rebecca?”
His head snapped toward me.
“Who told you about Rebecca?”
There it was.
No denial.
No confusion.
Just fear.
I folded my arms.
“Does Jessica know about the house?”
Thomas lowered his voice.
“Jessica is unstable.”
“Interesting. That's what you said about me at your birthday party.”
He moved closer.
“You need to stop listening to these women.”
I laughed.
“Which women, Thomas? There are apparently several.”
His face darkened.
“Watch yourself.”
I stepped backward into the house.
“Leave.”
“This is my property.”
“Then have your attorney establish that in court.”
For a moment, I thought he might push past me.
Instead, he turned toward the locksmith.
“Forget it.”
The men looked relieved.
Thomas walked toward his car.
Then he stopped.
“You think you're clever because you found a few papers.”
I said nothing.
He looked back.
“You have no idea how much trouble you're in.”
He drove away.
I closed the door and called Sarah.
She listened carefully.
Then she said, “Save the camera footage. And Rose, I don't want you staying there alone tonight.”
I agreed.
Not because I was frightened of Thomas's temper.
Because I was beginning to understand that the documents were only one part of a much larger problem.
That afternoon, Paul discovered the source of the home equity transaction.
The $420,000 hadn't been paid directly to Thomas.
It had been transferred to a title settlement account.
From there, it had moved through several transactions involving Carolina Meridian.
One payment went to a warehouse acquisition.
Another went to a consulting company controlled by Mike.
And $86,000 went to an entity called Bluewater Advisory.
I recognized the name.
Bluewater had appeared on invoices my firm had reviewed for one of Eleanor's clients.
“Is that significant?” Sarah asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “But we need to check the underlying work.”
Paul opened another file.
“There's something else.”
I looked at him.
“The commercial lender contacted our office after receiving notice that the guaranty may be unauthorized.”
“What did they say?”
“They've suspended the application pending investigation.”
Relief washed over me.
At least the $950,000 loan hadn't closed.
Then Paul continued.
“They also sent us a copy of the financial package.”
I leaned forward.
He opened a PDF.
It contained my firm's financial statements.
My personal tax returns.
Copies of identification documents.
And a letter on my company's stationery.
The letter stated that I had approved the proposed transaction.
At the bottom was a signature.
Eleanor's.
I felt sick.
“She said she refused to verify it.”
Sarah nodded.
“She may have. We don't know whether that signature is genuine.”
Paul enlarged the document.
I stared at the date.
The letter had supposedly been signed on a Sunday.
A Sunday when Eleanor and I had been attending an accounting conference in Nashville.
I remembered because we'd spent the afternoon together after the final session.
“Sarah, I can prove Eleanor wasn't in Charlotte.”
Sarah looked up.
“Can you prove she didn't sign it electronically?”
“No. But I can prove something else.”
I pointed to the letterhead.
“That logo wasn't introduced until three months after this letter was dated.”
Paul sat back.
“Then someone may have backdated it.”
I nodded.
“And whoever did it had access to our current stationery.”
Sarah's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
“It's the attorney representing Gregory Vale's company.”
She answered.
I watched her expression change.
First surprise.
Then concern.
Then something close to disbelief.
When she ended the call, she looked at me.
“Gregory wants a meeting.”
“Why?”
“He says he has evidence Thomas misrepresented your involvement.”
“Then he can give it to the investigators.”
“He says he will.”
Sarah paused.
“But he also claims something important.”
“What?”
“That Carolina Meridian wasn't originally Thomas's idea.”
I stared at her.
“Whose idea was it?”
May you like
Sarah took a breath.
“He says it was created by someone inside your accounting firm.”
