Chapter 4 - The Motel Confession
Three days passed. Three days of profound, beautiful silence.
I had moved Mia and myself into a cozy, secure apartment across town. I hired a property management company to board up the Vance Mansion and prepare it for immediate sale. I never wanted to step foot in that house again. The ghosts were too loud.
On Wednesday morning, my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number, but the voicemail notification popped up immediately.
I sat at my small kitchen table, watching Mia eat her cereal happily, and pressed play.
“Elena? Elena, please pick up.”
It was my mother. Her voice was raspy, broken, stripped of all the arrogant polish she usually wielded like a weapon.
“Elena, we’re at the Starlight Motel on Route 9. Sarah’s cards are all declining. We don't have any money for food. I… I don't understand what happened. Sarah told me she used her tech company bonus to buy the house. She told me you were just helping with the paperwork. Please, Elena. You can't leave your own mother in a place like this. The heater is broken. Just… just call me back. Let’s act like family again.”
I stared at the phone.
Act like family.
They didn't want to apologize. They didn't care about the bruise blooming on Mia’s chest. They only cared that they were cold, hungry, and out of options.
I deleted the voicemail.
Later that afternoon, I received a call from Marcus Sterling, my lawyer.
“Miss Vance,” he said, his voice laced with intrigue. “I’ve been reviewing the financial forensics from the bank regarding the initial foreclosure on the estate. I think you need to come into my office immediately. You aren't going to believe what I found.”
When I arrived at Marcus’s office downtown, he had a massive whiteboard covered in printed bank statements, highlighted wire transfers, and forged signatures.
“As you know, your parents' house went into foreclosure because the mortgage payments stopped a year ago,” Marcus explained, pointing his pen at a red circle on the board. “Your mother assumed your late father’s pension was covering it, but the money dried up.”
“Right,” I said, frowning. “Dad’s pension wasn't enough.”
“No, Elena,” Marcus corrected gently. “Your father’s pension was more than enough. It was a small fortune. The mortgage should have been paid off entirely.”
My stomach dropped. “Then where did the money go?”
Marcus pulled a manila folder from his desk and slid it toward me.
“Six months before your father died, someone forged his signature and granted themselves Power of Attorney. They systematically drained his pension accounts, the emergency fund, and took out a second mortgage on the house. Over eight hundred thousand dollars, Elena. Gone in a matter of months.”
I opened the folder. The name on the wire transfers to offshore accounts and shell companies stared back at me in bold black ink.
May you like
Sarah Vance.
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