Chapter 6 - THE HOTEL TRAP
We checked into a corporate hotel in downtown Nashville, using a prepaid debit card I had purchased with the emergency cash I kept in my office desk. I wasn't taking any chances with my frozen credit lines or tracking.
Room 412 was sterile, quiet, and safe. Frederick finally slept soundly in the center of the large king bed, his fever completely gone.
Amy sat by the window, looking out over the city lights.
“Connor,” she said softly, not turning around. “When your mother used to come over… she would always ask to hold Frederick alone in the nursery. She said she wanted bonding time.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you saying, Amy?”
“I’m saying she used that time to search our house,” Amy said, turning to face me. Her eyes were sharp with a terrifying realization. “She found our tax documents. She found your social security card. That’s how she opened the credit lines five years ago. But Connor… why did she throw the party at our house yesterday?”
I frowned. “To humiliate you. To show off to the relatives.”
“No,” Amy shook her head. “She brought twenty people into our house to create chaos. To distract us. While I was cleaning and you were arriving, Mason was trying to sneak out the back gate with the original deed.”
“The police stopped him,” I reminded her.
“But what if the deed wasn't the only thing he was trying to steal?” Amy asked. “What if they were looking for something else?”
My mind raced back to the safety deposit box. The forged loans. The blackmail against my boss, John Vance.
“Mason said his bosses already owned the equity on our house,” I muttered, piecing the puzzle together. “But to execute a fraudulent foreclosure through a shadow company, they need original signatures on a physical notary stamp to submit to the county clerk.”
I stood up, my heart pounding.
“They were looking for my grandfather’s antique notary seal,” I said. “He left it to me in his will. It’s illegal to use, but it’s real iron. If Mason stamps the forged equity transfer with a real, registered seal from thirty years ago, the county clerk will process the foreclosure automatically without running it through modern digital verification.”
“Where is the seal, Connor?”
“It’s in the floor safe in the garage,” I said. “I haven't opened it in years.”
“Did Mason have time to get into the garage yesterday?” Amy asked.
I thought about the timeline. Mason had been missing from the living room for at least forty minutes before the police arrived.
Suddenly, my cell phone rang.
It was John Vance.
I answered it. “John?”
“Connor, you need to listen to me carefully,” John said, his voice a frantic, breathless whisper. “I’m at the office. Mason just left. He came here demanding I access the corporate servers to wipe the email records proving I helped your mother.”
“Did you do it?”
“No,” John panted. “I locked myself in the server room. But Connor, he had something in his hands. A heavy iron stamp. He was bragging on the phone to his boss. He said the county clerk processes foreclosures on Monday morning. He’s submitting the paperwork tomorrow at 8:00 AM.”
“If he files that paperwork, the house legally transfers to the loan sharks,” I said, panic gripping my chest.
“You have to stop him, Connor,” John pleaded. “I’ll testify. I’ll go to the police and confess to the embezzlement. But if Mason files that deed, his bosses will kill me for failing to secure the digital records.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Amy. She had heard everything.
“It’s Sunday night,” I said, looking at the clock. “The clerk’s office opens in ten hours. If Mason files the stamped deed, we lose the house, and the loan sharks legally own it before the police can even open a fraud investigation.”
“Then we have to get the stamp back tonight,” Amy said firmly.
“I can't go to the police without proof that the stamp was stolen,” I said in frustration. “It’s my word against his.”
“Then you’ll have to get it yourself,” Amy said, walking over to her duffel bag. She unzipped it and pulled out a small, heavy black object.
It was a taser.
I stared at her in shock. “Where did you get that?”
“My brother gave it to me three years ago for self-defense,” Amy said, handing it to me. “Your mother thought I was weak, Connor. She thought I was just a maid. But I’m a mother protecting her child. Go get our house back.”
I took the taser, feeling the heavy plastic in my hand.
I knew exactly where Mason would be keeping the documents before filing them in the morning. He wouldn't keep them at his apartment—it was too risky while he was out on bail.
May you like
He would keep them with the one person he trusted completely. The woman who started all of this.
My mother.
