Chapter 5: What Alyssa Knew
She had ordered nothing.
She was sitting with both hands wrapped around an empty mug, staring at the table.
When I sat down across from her she looked up, and I saw something I had not seen on my sister's face in a very long time.
Shame.
"Start talking," I said.
"I didn't know about the Power of Attorney," she said immediately.
"I want you to know that first.
Dad told me you had signed off.
He showed me a document.
I didn't look closely enough — I should have, but I didn't."
"You didn't want to look closely."
She didn't argue.
"No.
I didn't." Her hands tightened around the mug.
"The house was everything I'd wanted.
You know how long I've been waiting for Dad to do something like that for me.
You always had Wyatt.
You had the house, the stability, the — " She stopped.
"That's not an excuse.
I know it isn't."
"It isn't," I agreed.
"Keep going."
"Last night after you left, Dad locked himself in his office for two hours.
When he came out he told me and Mom that if anyone asked, the sale was straightforward and fully consented.
He said you were just trying to cause trouble because you were still grieving." She looked up.
"Mom believed him.
She always believes him."
"What about you?"
"I've been believing him my whole life." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
"But last night I went into his office after he went to bed.
He'd left his laptop open." She reached into her jacket and pulled out her phone.
She turned it to face me.
On the screen was a photograph of a document — taken quickly, slightly angled, but legible.
It was an email chain.
Raymond to a man named Carl Briggs, dated thirteen months ago.
The subject line read: *POA — timing.*
I read the first visible message.
*She won't sign voluntarily.
We both know that.
Wyatt has her convinced the property is worth holding.
Once that changes, we move.*
My throat tightened.
"Who is Carl Briggs?"
"I looked him up last night.
He's a notary.
Or he was." Alyssa's voice had gone flat.
"His license was revoked in 2021."
The same notary.
The expired stamp.
Raymond had known exactly what he was using.
"There's more," Alyssa said.
She swiped to the next screenshot.
Another email, dated eleven months ago.
Raymond to Briggs again.
*The other problem has resolved itself.
We can move on the property now.*
The other problem.
Wyatt had d*ed ten months ago.
I set the phone down on the table between us.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
"Alyssa," I said carefully.
"When you read that — what did you think it meant?"
She was quiet for a long time.
A couple at the next table laughed at something.
The sound felt very far away.
"I think Dad knew something was going to happen to Wyatt," she said.
"And I think he waited for it."
"Did he cause it?"
Her eyes filled.
"I don't know.
I genuinely don't know.
But I'm scared that the answer is yes."
I picked up the phone and took my own screenshot of both images.
Then I slid it back to her.
"I need you to send those to me directly," I said.
"And I need you to be willing to give a statement to my attorney."
"Will that — " She stopped.
"Will that mean testifying against Dad?"
"Possibly."
She looked out the window.
A long pause.
"He's going to say I'm lying.
He's going to say I fabricated the screenshots."
"He can say whatever he wants.
The county recorder already has a certified copy of the expired notary stamp.
Dennis Holt has a timestamped photograph and a four-month-old police report.
And Vera Simms has been practicing law in this county for thirty years." I leaned forward slightly.
"Raymond is not the most powerful person in this situation anymore.
He just doesn't know that yet."
Alyssa stared at me.
"You've already been moving on this."
"Since last night."
She sent me the screenshots.
I watched the notification arrive in my inbox.
"What happens to the house?" she asked.
"My house."
"That depends on the title review and what the DA decides to do with the fraud filing.
At minimum, the sale will likely be voided.
The $182,000 will have to be returned.
Whether Alyssa's purchase contract survives depends on the buyer's attorney." I paused.
"You should get your own lawyer.
Not one Dad recommends."
She nodded slowly.
Then, quietly: "I'm sorry, Sabrina.
About what I said.
About Wyatt's house.
About all of it."
I looked at her for a moment.
The shame on her face was real.
I had known my sister long enough to tell the difference.
"I know," I said.
"Right now I need your help more than I need your apology.
Can you give me that?"
She straightened slightly.
"Yes."
May you like
"Good." I stood and picked up my bag.
"Don't tell Dad we met."
