Chapter 5: What She Brought With Her
The photograph meant she had come in with a plan before she unpacked a single bag.
Andy set it on the table.
Neither of us touched it again for a moment.
"She photographed my files three days after she arrived," I said.
"She knew where you kept the deed."
"She knew where I kept everything." I thought about the kitchen.
The rearranged cupboards.
The things she had thrown away that she called old.
"I thought she was being controlling.
She was mapping the house."
Andy sat down.
He put his elbows on the table and pressed his hands over his face.
"I brought her here," he said.
"Andy—"
"I told her about the house.
I told her your name was on the deed and mine was beside it.
I told her you'd worked your whole life for it." His voice was muffled behind his hands.
"I was proud of you.
I was telling her something I was proud of."
I sat down across from him.
"Look at me."
He lowered his hands.
"She chose to do this.
Not you."
"I handed her the information."
"People share things with their spouses.
That is not a crjme.
What she did with it is."
He shook his head slowly.
The guilt on his face was the kind that had been building for a long time — not just since last night, but for months, maybe longer.
The guilt of a man who had seen something wrong and told himself it wasn't as bad as it looked.
"I need to ask you something," I said.
"And I need you to answer me honestly."
He nodded.
"Did you ever sign anything she put in front of you without reading it first?"
He was quiet for too long.
"Once," he said.
"She said it was a joint account application.
For a savings account she wanted to open in both our names.
She said the bank needed both signatures and she'd already filled everything in." He paused.
"I signed it at the kitchen table.
She took it with her the next morning."
"When was this?"
"About six months ago."
I stood up and walked to the kitchen counter where I'd left my phone.
I called Patricia and relayed everything — the photograph, the timestamp, Derek Foss, the joint account Andy had signed.
Patricia listened.
When I finished she said, "I'm going to need Andy to come in today.
This afternoon if possible.
I want a full account of every document he signed or handled at Carly's request going back to the beginning of their marriage."
"He'll be there."
"There's something else," Patricia said.
"I ran a preliminary search this morning on the property records.
The transfer document Carly prepared was never filed — but there was an inquiry made to the county recorder's office four months ago requesting information on the filing process for a deed transfer on your address.
The inquiry came from an email registered to a Derek Foss."
I looked at Andy.
"She had her attorney researching the filing process four months ago," I said.
Andy's face did something complicated.
The guilt shifted into something harder.
"She was sitting across from me at dinner four months ago," he said.
"She was asking me what I wanted for my birthday."
Patricia's voice came back through the phone.
"I want to be clear about what we're looking at.
This was not impulsive.
This was not a reaction to stress or a bad night.
This was a sustained, multi-step plan to fraudulently transfer ownership of your home.
The forgery, the invalid notary, the substituted deed, the attorney involvement — this is organized property fraud.
Potentially felony level depending on the jurisdiction and what else surfaces."
"I know what it is," I said.
"I know you do.
I just want Andy to hear it clearly."
He had heard it.
His hands were flat on the table again, the way they had been the night before when Carly's messages came through.
But his eyes were different now.
The fear was still there.
Underneath it, something else was starting to harden.
"What does she actually have on us?" he asked.
"She said she has something we don't know about yet."
That question had been sitting at the back of my mind since I read her note.
"I don't know yet," I said.
"But I know how to find out."
I picked up the photograph from the table and looked at it again.
The filing cabinet.
The open drawer.
The deed folder, clearly visible.
She had taken this picture to prove she had access.
To prove she had been there.
To use as leverage if she needed it.
But she had also, without realizing it, given me something.
The timestamp.
Three days after she moved in.
Which meant she had not come alone.
Someone had to have let her into my study while I was out.
Someone had to have known where the cabinet was, known it would be unlocked, known I wouldn't be home.
I looked at my son.
"The day this photograph was taken," I said.
"Where were you?"
He thought about it.
"Work.
I was at work.
I didn't get home until after seven."
"And Carly?"
"She said she'd been home all day.
Unpacking."
"Was anyone else here that day?"
He started to shake his head.
Then stopped.
"Her sister," he said slowly.
"Her sister came by that afternoon to help her set up the bedroom.
I remember because Carly mentioned it at dinner.
She said her sister had brought boxes."
He said the name quietly, like he was only now understanding what it meant.
"Her sister has been in this house before," I said.
"She knows the layout."
Andy's phone buzzed on the table.
Not Carly this time.
A number neither of us recognized.
May you like
A text message, four words, no name.
*She knows about Marcus.*
