Chapter 3 - SOMEONE HAD BEEN HOME
I did not take Sophie home.
I called my older brother, Matt.
He arrived at the hotel twenty-two minutes later wearing jeans, work boots, and the expression he used when something had gone seriously wrong.
“You canceled your wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I handed him the phone.
He read three messages.
Then his jaw tightened.
“Where’s Amanda?”
“With police.”
“Good.”
Sophie sat against my chest, exhausted.
Matt crouched beside her.
“Hey, Soph.”
She looked at him.
“You want to hang out with Uncle Matt tonight?”
“Daddy too?”
“Daddy too.”
That finally got a tiny nod.
We drove to Matt’s house outside town.
His wife, Kelly, took Sophie upstairs, changed her into pajamas, and made her toast with strawberry jam.
I sat at the kitchen table with Matt and called my attorney, Claire Bishop.
Claire had handled my mother’s estate.
When I said “Oakridge Trust,” there was silence.
“Ryan,” she said, “who used that name?”
“A man involved with Amanda.”
Another silence.
“Are you somewhere safe?”
I looked at Matt.
“I think so.”
“Do not go home.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because two weeks ago, someone contacted my office claiming to be your financial adviser.”
“I don’t have one.”
“I know.”
“They asked for what?”
“A verification of trust beneficiaries.”
I stood.
“And you didn’t call me?”
“They had your date of birth, the last four digits of your tax ID, your home address, and the name of your mother’s estate attorney.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Matt cursed under his breath.
Claire continued.
“I refused the request. I assumed it was ordinary identity fraud.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“I don’t think so.”
I pulled Amanda’s second phone closer.
“Claire, what happens to the trust if I get married?”
“Nothing automatically.”
“What if I sign something?”
“That depends entirely on what you sign.”
I remembered the message.
Once he signs after the ceremony, the house is ours.
Claire’s tone sharpened.
“Ryan, did Amanda ever ask you to add her to the house?”
“Not directly.”
“Did she ever ask you to update your estate plan?”
I hesitated.
Three weeks earlier, Amanda had casually suggested we “make everything simpler” after the wedding.
I had said we would talk about it later.
“Maybe.”
Claire exhaled.
“Send me everything on that phone.”
I forwarded the photos.
Five minutes later, she called back.
Her voice sounded different.
“There’s a document in those pictures.”
“What document?”
“A partially completed spousal property agreement.”
I felt sick.
“I never saw one.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“The signature block already contains your signature.”
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Claire paused.
“It’s forged.”
Matt stood.
Then the alarm app on my own phone chimed.
Movement detected.
At my house.
We opened the security camera.
A man wearing a baseball cap was walking through my kitchen.
He looked straight at the camera.
And smiled.
Then he lifted something into view.
May you like
Sophie’s pink backpack.
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