Chapter 3: The Receipt in the Envelope
“How much did you pay her?” I asked.
The stranger looked from me to Daphne.
“Eight hundred dollars.
She said Barnaby needed a new home because his owner was moving overseas.”
“That’s a lie,” I said.
“I’m his owner.”
Daphne stepped between us.
“Graham, this is a family misunderstanding.
The sale is canceled.
You need to leave.”
Graham held up the envelope.
“Not until someone explains why this receipt has another woman’s name on it.”
Barnaby whimpered beneath the chair.
I crouched slowly and unfastened the cord from his collar.
“It’s me,” I whispered.
“You’re coming home.”
He crawled into my arms and pressed his face against my coat.
Daphne folded her arms.
“Look at this performance.
He’s perfectly fine.”
My phone was still connected to Mara, the rescue center director.
Her voice came through the speaker.
“Do not remove or destroy anything,” Mara said.
“I heard Daphne admit that she entered the apartment.”
Daphne stared at my phone.
“You tricked me.”
“No,” I said.
“I gave you a chance to tell the truth.”
Graham opened the envelope and showed me the receipt.
Beneath Barnaby’s description was my full name, followed by a signature that looked almost like mine.
“I never signed this.”
“You told me she had agreed,” Graham said to Daphne.
“You said you were handling the sale for your sister.”
“She did agree,” Daphne snapped.
“She’s embarrassed because she changed her mind.”
“Then why did you tell me the owner had already left the country?”
Daphne reached for the receipt.
“Give me that.”
Graham pulled it back.
“No.”
Her oldest boy, Eli, stood near the patio door with tears filling his eyes.
“Mom said we could play with him until the man came,” he whispered.
“She said we weren’t really keeping him.”
Daphne spun around.
“Go inside, Eli.”
“But you told Auntie—”
“Inside!”
The other boys ran, but Eli stayed where he was.
“You said the money would fix everything,” he said.
Daphne’s face tightened.
“You don’t understand grown-up problems.”
I stood with Barnaby against my chest.
“What problems cost eight hundred dollars?”
“That is none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you sold my dog.”
Daphne lunged for Graham’s envelope.
Her fingers caught one corner, tearing the receipt in half.
“There,” she said.
“Now there’s no receipt.”
Graham calmly took out his phone.
“I have the messages, the listing, the transfer agreement, and photographs of every page.”
Daphne’s confidence slipped for one second.
Mara spoke again through my phone.
“I’m checking Barnaby’s microchip account now.
His registration should still be under the original adoption contract.”
A keyboard clicked on her end of the call.
“What does it say?” I asked.
Mara went silent.
“Mara?”
“A transfer request was approved this morning,” she said.
“The account now lists Daphne as Barnaby’s owner.”
“That’s impossible.”
“The request came through your account,” Mara replied.
“Someone used your password and your private recovery code.”
May you like
My hand tightened around Barnaby’s blanket.
The recovery code had been kept inside a locked drawer in my bedroom—and Daphne’s spare key opened only my front door.
