Chapter 2: What She Really Wanted
The first page was a legal document.
My home address was printed at the top.
Below it, my name.
Below that, Carly's name — listed as a co-owner.
My hands didn't shake.
Thirty years in a courtroom taught me that.
But my chest tightened in a way no courtroom ever had.
"She had you sign something," I said.
Andy wouldn't look at me.
"She said it was a loan agreement.
To protect both sides."
"Andy.
This is a property transfer document."
The silence that followed told me everything.
I set the papers down and looked at my son.
The same son I had raised alone after his father left.
The same son I had worked double shifts for.
The same son whose name was on the deed of this house beside mine — because I had trusted him completely.
"Did you sign this?"
He rubbed his eyes.
"She said you'd agreed.
She said you offered."
"I have never seen this document before today."
His face went white.
I turned to the last page.
There was a signature line with my name printed beneath it.
It was already signed.
I looked closer.
The handwriting was not mine.
Andy made a sound I had never heard from him before — something between a breath and a cry.
"She told me it was handled," he whispered.
"She told me not to worry."
I picked up my phone.
Not to call the police this time.
To call my attorney.
And that was when Andy's phone lit up on the table between us.
A message from Carly.
Four words again.
*Did she open it?*
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What Carly had been planning went far deeper than one night and one glass.
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What the attorney found next left even me speechless — and I had spent thirty years hearing the worst of what people do to each other.
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