Chapter 2: The Secret Behind My Bedroom Door
I didn't sleep that night.
At 1:17 a.m., I opened my laptop and checked my email.
There were forty-three unread messages.
Most were business correspondence, insurance updates, and rehabilitation appointments.
One email immediately caught my attention.
<text color="secondary" size="xs" weight="medium">SENDER: DANIEL BROOKS</text>
<text color="secondary" size="xs" weight="medium">SUBJECT: DOCUMENTS YOU ASKED ME TO REVIEW</text>
I opened it.
Daniel had attached several scanned documents, along with a short message.
Marcus, I know you asked me to keep an eye on your progress and help coordinate the paperwork for your rehabilitation. While reviewing the documents you sent, I noticed that someone appears to have attempted to change the ownership arrangements for your property.
My stomach tightened.
I opened the first attachment.
It was a copy of the deed to my house.
The property was registered solely in my name.
I had purchased it seven years before marrying Linda. I had paid the mortgage off three years later.
The next attachment was different.
It was a proposed transfer of ownership.
The document listed Linda as the recipient of a fifty-percent interest in the property.
There was a signature at the bottom.
My signature.
Or something that looked remarkably similar.
I leaned closer to the screen.
The date was four months earlier.
I remembered that period.
I had just been discharged from the rehabilitation hospital. I was taking medication, struggling with pain, and relying on Linda to handle much of the paperwork.
She had brought me stacks of documents.
Insurance forms. Medical authorizations. Banking statements.
She had told me I needed to sign several things so she could manage household affairs while I recovered.
I had trusted her.
Apparently, that trust had been expensive.
I enlarged the signature.
The letter M was almost identical to mine.
Almost.
But there was a small difference.
I always signed my middle initial with a sharp downward stroke.
This signature didn't.
Someone had copied my name.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered immediately.
“Tell me what I'm looking at.””
“Marcus, I was hoping you'd call,” he said.
“Did Linda submit this?””
“I don't know who submitted it. But the document was included in a property-record inquiry.””
“Is it legal?””
“I'm not qualified to give you legal advice. That's why I want you to speak to an attorney. I did notice that the notarization information needs independent verification.””
I rubbed my forehead.
“Daniel, how did you even get involved in this?””
There was a brief silence.
“Remember when you asked me to help organize your rehabilitation paperwork?””
“Yes.””
“You accidentally included an email from your property management attorney. I saw the proposed transfer attached to it. I thought you should know.””
I looked at the screen again.
“Thank you.””
“Marcus, there's something else.””
“What?””
“Don't underestimate what people might do when they think someone has become financially dependent on them.””
His words stayed with me long after we ended the call.
At 7:30 the next morning, Linda entered the kitchen wearing a silk robe.
She looked refreshed.
I looked exhausted.
“Good morning,” she said, opening the refrigerator.
“Morning.””
“Did you sleep?””
“Not much.””
She poured herself orange juice.
“Your back bothering you again?””
“No.””
She took a sip.
“Then what's wrong?””
I watched her carefully.
“Do you remember the paperwork you asked me to sign after I came home from the hospital?””
Her hand stopped halfway to the counter.
“What paperwork?””
“The house documents.””
She placed the glass down.
“Oh, those. Just administrative things.””
“Which things?””
“Marcus, I don't remember every piece of paper. You were supposed to sign them so I could help manage everything.””
“Did I agree to transfer half the house to you?””
She stared at me.
For a moment, I saw something cross her face.
Fear.
It disappeared quickly.
“What are you talking about?””
I turned my laptop toward her.
The screen showed the proposed deed transfer.
Linda didn't move.
Then she sighed.
“Oh, for heaven's sake.””
“That's your response?””
“You're making a big deal out of nothing.””
“Someone copied my signature.””
“Maybe you signed it and forgot.””
“I didn't.””
“You were on medication, Marcus. You weren't thinking clearly.””
I studied her.
“Are you saying I signed it without remembering?””
“I'm saying I was trying to protect our future.””
“By taking half my house?””
“Our house,” she snapped.
I said nothing.
Linda folded her arms.
“Look, I have spent six months taking care of you. Do you have any idea what that's like?””
“I have a pretty good idea what it's like to be injured.””
“Don't do that.””
“Do what?””
“Make me sound like some terrible wife!””
I looked at her for a long moment.
“Then stop giving me reasons to think you are one.””
Her face reddened.
“You've changed, Marcus.””
“No. I think I'm finally seeing things clearly.””
She grabbed her purse.
“I'm not having this conversation.””
“Neither am I.””
She stopped at the doorway.
“What does that mean?””
“It means I'll be speaking to my attorney.””
Her expression hardened.
“Be careful. You could make things very difficult for yourself.””
Then she walked out.
At nine, I called my attorney, Robert Hayes.
Robert had handled my business contracts for fifteen years. He was sixty, precise, and not easily impressed.
He arrived at my house shortly after eleven.
I showed him the proposed deed.
He examined it without speaking.
Then he took out his reading glasses.
“Marcus, where did this come from?””
“Daniel found it.””
“Who had access to your documents?””
“Linda.””
“Anyone else?””
“Possibly Jasmine.””
Robert turned the page.
“This document was never properly recorded, which is good news. But we need to determine whether anyone attempted to submit it officially.””
“Can they take my house?””
“Not based on this document alone. But I want to review every authorization you've signed since your accident.””
I nodded.
Robert closed the folder.
“One more thing. Have you noticed any unusual activity in your business accounts?””
I thought about it.
“Not that I know of.””
“Then we'll check.””
He made several calls and requested copies of recent financial statements.
An hour later, his expression changed.
“Marcus.””
“What?””
“There's a recurring transfer from your personal account.””
“How much?””
“Seven thousand five hundred dollars every month.””
I stared at him.
“Where is it going?””
Robert turned the laptop around.
The recipient was a company called Sterling Lifestyle Management.
I had never heard of it.
“Who owns it?””
Robert typed something into his computer.
A moment later, he looked up.
“It's registered to Jasmine.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“How long?””
“Five months.””
“That's thirty-seven thousand five hundred dollars.””
“Correct.””
I stared at the screen.
Jasmine had told me she was struggling financially.
She had told Linda that her apartment expenses were overwhelming.
Apparently, I had been funding a company I knew nothing about.
“Cancel it,” I said.
Robert nodded.
“We can issue a stop instruction, but I also recommend changing every banking password and reviewing all authorized users.””
“Do it.””
After Robert left, I wheeled myself into the garage.
The rehabilitation room was at the far end, behind a locked door.
It had parallel bars, a padded therapy bench, resistance bands, and a full-length mirror.
I transferred myself carefully.
My legs trembled when I pulled myself upright.
For several seconds, I held the bars.
My knees shook.
Pain traveled through my lower back.
But I remained standing.
One second.
Two.
Three.
I looked into the mirror.
I didn't see a burden.
I saw a man who had survived an explosion, months of operations, and the betrayal of the people he loved.
Then the garage door opened.
“Marcus?””
It was Linda.
I quickly lowered myself onto the bench.
She stood in the doorway holding a shopping bag.
Her eyes moved from the parallel bars to my legs.
“What are you doing?””
“Exercises.””
She frowned.
“Since when?””
“Since the doctors told me rehabilitation was important.””
She placed the bag on the workbench.
“Why didn't you tell me you were doing this?””
“Why didn't you tell me you were trying to transfer my house?””
Her expression changed.
“Are you going to keep bringing that up?””
“Until I understand it.””
She shook her head.
“You're becoming paranoid.””
I didn't respond.
She moved closer and lowered her voice.
“Marcus, Jasmine is coming home tonight. We need to discuss something as a family.””
“What?””
“She wants to talk about her future.””
“What about it?””
Linda hesitated.
“She wants to move back into the house permanently.””
I stared at her.
“Why?””
“Her apartment is too expensive.””
“Then she can find something cheaper.””
Linda's mouth tightened.
“She doesn't want to live somewhere that isn't comfortable.””
I almost laughed.
“Neither do I.””
She ignored the comment.
“She's been looking at the upstairs bedroom. We could have it converted into a suite for her.””
“The upstairs?””
“Yes.””
“Linda, I can't even get upstairs without assistance.””
“We could arrange something.””
I looked at her.
“You want to give her my bedroom?””
“Don't be dramatic.””
I lowered my eyes to my hands.
There was a time when I would have agreed just to keep peace.
Not anymore.
“Tell Jasmine to find somewhere else.””
Linda's face hardened.
“You can't keep treating her like an outsider.””
“Then she should stop treating me like one.””
She grabbed her shopping bag.
“Fine. We'll discuss it tonight.””
After she left, I returned to my study.
My laptop was still open.
A new email had arrived from Robert.
It contained the preliminary banking review.
I opened the attachment.
There were multiple transfers to Sterling Lifestyle Management.
Then I saw something else.
A payment of $18,000 had been made three weeks earlier.
The description read:
ADVANCE — PROPERTY ACQUISITION.
I stared at the screen.
Jasmine wasn't simply receiving money from me.
She was using my money to buy property.
But the final page contained a name that made my blood run cold.
The recipient of the property deposit wasn't Jasmine.
It was Linda.
And the property being purchased was listed as a condominium in downtown Columbus.
The purchase had been made using funds from an account I had never authorized.
I immediately called Robert.
“Robert, I need you to look at something.””
“What is it?””
I read him the transaction details.
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he said something I hadn't expected.
“Marcus, I think your wife and stepdaughter may have been preparing for your departure from this house for quite some time.””
I looked toward the hallway.
“What do you mean?””
“There's another document attached to this transaction.””
“What document?””
“A draft agreement. It appears to be a proposed arrangement for your long-term residential care.””
My stomach tightened.
“Send it to me.””
A few seconds later, the email arrived.
I opened it.
The document was titled:
Residential Transition and Asset Management Plan.
And under the heading marked PRIMARY BENEFICIARIES, there were two names.
May you like
Linda.
And Jasmine.
